In Which Dave Karofsky Doesn't Come Out
by SaltwaterGarden
Summary: Dave is a football player. He's also something else.
1. In Which There Are Monochromatic Photos

Dave Karofsky is a football player. He's a tall guy, maybe 5'10 or 5'11, and stocky, compact, solid. He probably weighs two hundred pounds. In full pads, he is like a charging rhino on the football field. He runs the other team down, as if he doesn't see them, as if they aren't there. His passion for the game allows him to immerse himself in it. In high school, this is what matters. His primary identity is that of a sportsman, a man driven by the noble, primitive instinct to defend his honor on the field of battle. This is how Dave Karofsky thinks of it. He read a book about the origin of American football, once, and the author said something like that. It sounds logical, poetic, when it's put like this. The truth is that Dave did not really choose to play football—he wasn't against it but it seemed, at the time, the only possible path. His brothers, who have graduated from high school now, were both football stars as well, and his father signed him up for the middle school team when he was twelve. Dave spent most of middle school with at least one sports-related injury, but it paid off: at thirteen, he was part of a group, a circle, a gang. He had friends who supported him, and who he could call for help on homework, and who he could complain to. At an age where other kids struggled to find their place, Dave had his. Now, at seventeen, he still has it. People respect him, teachers know him, and his teammates thump him on the back after games. And this is what is important. He has a place, near the top of the pyramid if not quite at its peak. He is seen and noticed and at once overlooked—for when people look at him, they see only the jacket, the build, the number on his jersey. Being a Titan gives him identity and anonymity all at the same time, and what more could someone want?

Categories are oversimplifications. Dave knows this.

He and the other Titans push kids into lockers. They do things like throw people in dumpsters and throw frozen drinks at kids who aren't as close to the top of the social pyramid. Dave has realized that it doesn't really matter who they bully, because when you're doing something like stuffing a guy's head down a toilet, you aren't supposed to think about the guy's name, or whether you have any classes with him, or whether he's okay. You think about the category he's in—he's a nerd, or a dork, or a freshman. By putting him down, you put the category down, and place yourself above them, separate yourself from them. It's not personal, or that's what Dave tells himself.

He is always the first to laugh if someone pours an ice-cold drink all over a pimply fourteen-year-old, because that tells everyone that Dave was never nervous or insecure. He'll smile good-naturedly around at everyone, and pretends that he's never been given a swirly or been called a name_. _When the guys wait after school for some poor boy with a lisp, and gather around him, calling him fag or homo or queer, Dave joins them, Dave is the one throwing the most insults, and making the most cruel jokes. He sometimes even slides in a few good punches.

When this happens, when the kid is on the ground and screaming or protesting, Dave is thinking, _That could have been me._ As he hits someone, he hopes that hurting them will ensure that he never feels their pain. His wide, uncertain eyes go unnoticed, the nervous laugh unheard.

He looks around at his teammates, at Azimio and Finn and Noah, and wonders, _Do they know? _They don't seem to. In the locker room, Dave keeps his eyes cast downwards toward the floor, keeps a towel wrapped securely around his waist. He feels uncomfortable. To the other Titans, a naked boy is ordinary, unremarkable, like a doorknob, or linoleum. The locker room is what Dave hates most about high school. He is always slightly nervous that one day, someone will glance over and notice his blush, or the way he lowers his eyes whenever someone starts to undress, and they'll make the connection. He is secretly sure that his desire is tangible, that it is visible. Dave is incredibly afraid. High school is the only reality he has. He doesn't have a plan for what he will do after graduation. He has no friends that live outside of Lima. If he ever makes public the secret that has been tearing him up, then, he is sure, the world will actively collapse around him, and he will be left alone, and more isolated than any of the lisping orchestra members that he now ridicules.

Dave used an online search engine to look up "gay" when he was fifteen. He already knew what it meant, more or less. His church was actively anti-gay rights, and his parents used the word to imply irresponsibility and corruption in politicians who they disliked, like Hillary Clinton. The kids at his school had been calling Kurt Hummel gay for as long as anyone cared to recollect. People knew that gay guys liked other guys, and that they wanted to have sex with other guys. However, the internet search was the first time that Dave had made the connection between the incredible, personal, hidden longing he felt and something real, something that had a definition. He spent hours reading about Oscar Wilde and Harvey Milk and the gay rights movement of the seventies. He read a few blogs, and watched a few videos in which twenty-something-year-old men with soprano voices talked about how they had told their parents, and how their lives were better now. He looked up the date for the New York Pride Walk.

Dave had deleted his internet history. He had gone downstairs and eaten a slice of pizza, and then returned to his room, where he spent hours looking at the centerfold picture in a Playboy magazine, and tried, as much as he possibly could, desperately, even, to make himself feel something.

Now he is seventeen, and he knows what he is. He continues to hope that he will be fixed, somehow. He still buys the magazines that the other guys buy, and looks at them, but more and more he barely skims through them, and he just folds over a couple pages at the corner to make it look like he's read them. He looks up pictures on the internet instead; ones that make him intensely embarrassed but also better than he ever has with a girl. Dave is at the point where he almost accepts himself. However, he realizes that the possibility of anyone else accepting him in this town is next to nothing. Dave doesn't know what is going to happen after he leaves high school, but for now, he has to keep doing what he has always done.

Or that was the plan.

There was a running joke for a while that Finn and Kurt were going out. Dave had to turn on Finn, too, and make fun of him with the rest of the guys, even though he could tell that Finn wasn't gay in the least. Finn was insecure, though, and too easy a target. Joking about it turned into throwing slushies at him and ripping up his football jersey, and eventually, Finn became a victim too. Dave felt sorry for the guy, but hey, at least it wasn't him.

Kurt was the best. He had a voice like Grace Kelly and held himself like Fred Astaire. He was out, and he was proud, and no matter how many times the football team threw him into a dumpster, he would come back the next day, hair gelled and cardigan pressed and head held high like he was the queen of the motherfrigging universe. Dave imagined being that brave. He thought about coming to school in a jacket like Kurt had, or even a fedora like in _Esquire._ He imagined buying a rainbow pin and pinning it to his bag. He imagined coming out to the football team, and bearing the subsequent blows with dignity, even haughtiness. He thought about asking Kurt to Senior Prom one day.

After he was done thinking, Dave would inevitably pull himself out of his head and slam Kurt into a locker.

Dave started dating for a while. Her name was either Tori or Laurie, and Dave made out with her exactly seven times, and always when someone else was around. Once he'd kissed her on his couch, and after four seconds, he had to stop. Her lips were sticky and pliable and receptive, unmoving under his own. She wore short skirts and eye makeup so thick and dark that it made her look like a victim of domestic violence. Her tops were cut low and she wore push-up bras.

Tori/Laurie dumped him late in September. She told him that he wasn't what she was looking for, exactly, but though he was a pretty like nice guy still and she hoped they could be friends. Dave had thought, _this is it, she is going to tell everyone that I don't like girls and that I'm a raging homo._ She didn't, though.

Dave had French 2 with Kurt. He wasn't exactly sure why, because he'd barely passed French 1 the year before. He didn't excel at languages. He explained to his friends that he couldn't speak French because it was a faggot language, and they laughed, more because it sounded ridiculous than anything else. They were all in Spanish, concentrating on the difference between the difference between _vosotros _and _nosotros. _They didn't see Dave looking at Kurt all through every class, copying the way he pronounced words. They didn't notice that Dave put more effort into his French homework than he did the work from any other class. Once or twice, Dave had even worked up the courage to ask Kurt for help translating a sentence. Kurt had leaned back in his chair and given him a questioning look that quickly turned into one of triumph. He gave Dave the translation and smirked when Dave had to ask how to spell it. Dave had, briefly, smiled at Kurt, and for once it was a smile that said, _yes, you are cool. You are amazing. _And then he'd stopped, and gone back to his seat, and glared down at his paper like it was ruining his life.

In between classes, though, in the halls and after school, Dave pushed Kurt into lockers and called him names. When everyone was watching, Dave was the aggressor. The worst part was that he didn't know how to stop.

Dave came home late last Saturday night after a party, stumbling home exhausted, ready to fall into bed. He hadn't expected either of his parents to be up, but his mother was. She waited inside and crossed her arms. Dave had thought that she was going to tell him off for coming home late. Instead, she pointed to the couch.

"Sit down."

Dave sat.

His mother held up a picture, one that had obviously been printed off of the computer. Dave didn't recognize it at first—it was dark in the living room, with only a vague light from the kitchen to shed a glow on the black-and-white, poor-quality photo. However, the basic idea of the picture was pretty easy to make out. Two humanoid forms, devoid of most clothing, entertwined.

"What the hell is this, young man," his mother said thrusting the photo closer to Dave's nose. Dave recoiled as if she had slapped him. He denied knowing how the picture had gotten onto the computer, and blamed it on a virus. He told his mother that social networking sites were always trying to spam you with porn and stuff. His mother seemed about to argue, but stopped.

"Are you sure? It seems like someone would stop them from sending obscene stuff like this to people's computers."

"Spammers are always one step ahead, Mom," Dave said. "I can't help it if homos are all freaks."

His mother seemed appeased, or pretended to be. She told him to limit his time on the computer, as she had before. She told him to watch what sites he went to. She let him go to bed, but as he went upstairs, he saw her sit on the couch, staring at the printout and the URL before lowering her head to her hands.

Today, Dave was worried about his mom.

Today, Dave couldn't take anyone doubting him.

Today, Dave shoved Kurt into a wall of metal lockers, and he watched Kurt's self-confidence slip a notch, and he felt cold inside, and satisfied with himself for a second.

Today, he was at his locker in the shower room when Kurt followed him in. Kurt yelled at Dave, which he's never done before.

Kurt said, "I'm talking to you!" and Dave couldn't look at him. Dave wasn't talking to Kurt when he called him a girl. He was talking to the stereotype, to fags. He was trying to deny what his mom had found on his computer. He was trying to tell himself it would turn out all right.

Today, Dave was called an ignoramus.

Today, Dave started to use his fists and stopped.

Today Dave's brow wrinkled and he took a half-step back as Kurt Hummel called him a fat loser. Dave hasn't been called a name since the sixth grade. Since sixth grade, Dave's hidden behind football. He's never had to worry about anything, because nobody questions you when you're popular. Nobody questions him. But now Kurt has ignored the façade that was all anyone else saw.

Today, Dave couldn't figure out what to do, once all his labels were stripped away. He wasn't better than Kurt, and Kurt knew that.

So he pulled Kurt closer and kissed him, hard and fast and ugly and passionate.

Today, Kurt looked genuinely scared of him for the first time. Or, Dave guesses, if not scared, then confused. Dave knows how Kurt feels.

Today, Kurt pushed him away as he moved in to kiss him again. Dave could have kissed him anyway, if he had really meant to. But Kurt's rejection hurt more than anything else, and Dave knows he shouldn't take it personally because it was totally out of the blue and Dave has been nothing but nasty to Kurt until now.

But he does anyway, and when he gets home his mom wants to take him to counseling to "fix this" and she's told his dad, and Dave can't talk about what happened today with her because then she'd probably ship him off to a correctional facility or something. And he has Doctor Pat to look forward to next week and until then he has no computer. Dave has nothing to distract him from his thoughts.


	2. In Which There is A Discussion

_**How to Prevent Homosexuality **_

_By Bob Davies, PhD_

_(Excerpts from Chapter 2)_

_Parents may be worried about their children's vulnerability to homosexual influences. How can they reduce the chances of future difficulties? _

_Promote an "open" atmosphere in your home. Children need somewhere to go with their inevitable questions about sexuality. Those who are hushed consistently soon learn that sex is off-limits for discussion. If they experience doubts about their own sexual identity later on, they will avoid talking about their fears. _

_Give accurate information. Young children may be confused about what homosexuality is — and what it is not. If they like same-sex friends, they may wonder if that makes them "gay." _

_Affirm your child's gender. Reinforce gender-appropriate behavior in younger children, and express delight in their masculinity or femininity. Sons who are treated right by their parents (or other male authority figures) will have less vulnerability to wrong kinds of physical affirmation from other males._

Dave found the book, which had been checked out from the Lima Public Library, on the coffee table. His parents had made no pretense about its presence in the house, not even bothering it to put it in their room rather than in the public living space. When he got home from school on Wednesday, he found it sitting there, like a grenade waiting to go off. His parents weren't around, and they wouldn't be home for hours. His mom's shift at the dry-cleaning place didn't end until five, and his dad's work got out even later. He started reading the book. The author, a doctor, spoke a lot about early childhood. Dave thought about his parents, reading this book, wondering what they had done wrong during his preschool years.

Dave's mom had been crying a lot lately.

On Dave's computer, there had been a file labeled "whatever". Saved to it were about fifty pictures that his parents weren't ever supposed to see. Dave had never thought about what would happen if his parents found it. The pictures had been downloaded from ten different websites, and each had a link imbedded in the filename. It wasn't the best way to do things, Dave figured—he should have at least protected the file with a password. Reflecting on it, he was surprised that his parents hadn't noticed it before now. His mom had found the file a few days ago when she was scanning family photos. That, apparently, was where she had gotten the picture that she'd shown Dave when she cornered him on Saturday. Dave's excuse might have worked if it was the only photo, but as it stood, it was pretty obvious that the "whatever" file was no accident. The pictures showed men, in their twenties or early thirties. None of the pictures were very creative in their content—most of the men weren't even entirely naked, and none of them were doing anything that was especially illegal, or at least not illegal in the United States. They were definitely erotic images, though—there was very little room for argument there. It was pretty clear, too, that Dave had been the one to save them to the computer. His parents realized with a shock that their son had been browsing gay erotica sites online; that he'd been doing it for months. The oldest of the photos had been downloaded in 2008.

Dave felt like a criminal. He saw his parents, his father especially, looking at him suspiciously whenever he walked into a room. In his dad's eyes, there was a look that said, who are you?

Dave hadn't talked to his father about the incident. His dialogue with his dad since Saturday had been limited to a mutual grunt of acknowledgement when each noticed the other, and, after dinner, a mumbled command from his father to do his homework. Dave hoped that his father wouldn't try to talk about it with him. As it was, Dave could pretend that he was in trouble for something else, that his dad still didn't know.

His mother was a different story. She came home to find Dave reading the book, leafing through its chapters morosely, frowning.

"Oh, so you found that," she said, as if it was something that took effort to find. She set down her grocery bag and walked into the kitchen to put away the milk, before returning to the living room.

Dave nodded guiltily, as if he'd been found practicing devil worship. "I guess so. You got it at the library?"

"Well, after we found that… that stuff on your computer," she said, voice cracking slightly, putting down her purse and sitting down, "Those photos, I mean, we figured that we needed outside advice." Her eyes had bags underneath them.

"Oh," said Dave, looking down at the chapter he was reading, which dealt with transsexualism.

"Dave, your father and I don't know how to deal with this," his mother said, frowning, trying to look authoritarian and understanding at the same time. She looked instead like she was about to cry. "We realize that it isn't your fault, that you've been sucked into this by the media and by the progressive secular movement. You're a victim, and we want to help you. But we thought you understood that this was wrong. It's what we've always taught you, isn't it? We thought you knew that this," here she pointed at the word "homosexual" on the cover of the book, "This wasn't what we wanted for you." Her lipstick was smudged on the corners of her mouth. For the first time, Dave noticed that his mother looked old.

"I…yeah."

"Yeah what, Dave? Do you understand?"

Dave felt like punching something, like hitting the coffee table or throwing the book at his mother. Instead he started to cry, loose sobs breaking from his throat, dry and painful. He bent over, crossing his arms over his chest and staring at his knees, anything to avoid looking at his mother. His mom looked terrified to see the tears trickling down his face. Dave realized that he hadn't cried in front of her since he was a kid.

"What are you…doing?" she said, quietly, nearly whispering, the last word separated from the rest of the sentence by so much silence that Dave heard only what are you. "What are you doing to yourself, Dave?"

Dave choked for a second on a lump of phlegm and let out a deep breath. He took a few more breaths before he said, apologetically, "Dunno."

His mother smacked him across the face and got up, leaving the room.

On Thursday, Veteran's Day, Dave and his mother drove to Doctor Pat's office, two towns over. They said nothing on the ride there. Doctor Pat worked in a small, dirty complex of buildings that looked to have been built in the early forties. The parking lot, which was made of cement rather than asphalt, was nearly empty. Across the street, the K-Mart lot was full of cars.

Inside the office, the light was white and slightly oppressive. The ceiling was low, and Dave felt uncomfortably enormous sitting on his chair in the waiting room. The magazines in the waiting room had titles like Christian Family and New American. There was a small table there, covered in toy trains and train tracks, and in the corner there was a tub of greasy Legos. Dave imagined a child of four or five sitting in this waiting room, playing with blocks, the kid's parents inside the psychologist's office discussing his sexuality before he even knew what the word meant.

After a while, the door to the office opened. A couple in their fifties walked out, thanking the doctor.

"I hope that Samantha writes you soon," Doctor Pat said, standing in the door, and the wife blew her nose and smiled at the doctor as she left. Doctor Pat adjusted her glasses and looked down her nose at Dave and his mother. "You must be my new patient!"

"Yes," Dave's mother said. "I spoke to you over the phone the other day. Dave here has been having some problems, and we were hoping that you could help us work through it. As we told you, we found…" She trailed off as Doctor Pat beckoned them inside her office.

"Sit down, both of you. I'm sure, Mrs. Karofsky, that you are very worried about your son, and David, I know that you must be confused."

"It's Dave," said Dave.

"I will call you David, David, if you don't mind very much," said Dr. Pat. "It's a good name. A Biblical name."

Dave's mother nodded. She glared at Dave, quickly, before turning her attention back to Dr. Pat. "We found a cache of images on David's computer that frighten us. We didn't know that he was doing this. We don't know where he is with this. We want to help him, naturally." Dave noticed that she had switched to using David. She was talking, again, about helping him.

"Have you and David discussed what led him to look at these homosexual images?" Doctor Pat asked.

"No, we just can't understand it," said Dave's mother. "David is on the football team. He dates girls. He has friends, and he's not…" she quieted. "He isn't the type to do this. He's a good boy, he's just been misled."

"I'm sure, yes." Doctor Pat said. "It's really more common than you'd think, Mrs. Karofsky. Boys David's age often are enchanted by the idea of rebelling, and if they feel neglected, feel that they need attention from their peers, then they often turn to homosexual experimentation-"

Dave's mother interrupts the doctor. "David hasn't ever done anything like that. It's just the pictures. He wouldn't ever betray out trust like that, he knows it's wrong." She sounds a little proud of this, but as she says it she looks at Dave, and he lowers his eyes, not wanting to look at her. His mother looks taken aback, and doubtful, suddenly. Her voice turns sour. "He wouldn't."

"Have you asked David about it?" Doctor Pat's voice is gentle, yet patronizing. Her grey hair is brushed back in a bun that reminds Dave of schoolmistresses from the nineteen fifties. She looks at Dave, pointedly. "David, can you tell your mother if what she's just told me is the truth?"

Dave thinks about Kurt's lips, set against his kiss, about his hands holding Kurt's face and about breathing in Kurt's scent. He thinks about Kurt pushing him away, the scared look that Kurt had, shocked and slightly confounded.

"It's not." His voice is quiet, but there's a little bit of resolve in it. He might as well let them know everything, he thinks. Besides, he has begun to really hate Dr. Pat. If he can shock her, all the better. "I kissed a guy. Once."

His mother gasps so hard that she starts to cough.

Dr. Pat smiles, like a wolf, Dave thinks. She does not look the least bit shocked. Dave starts to think that he has made a terrible mistake in saying it out loud. "At least you're able to tell us, David," Pat says. "Admitting something like this is very important. It is better to have utmost honesty with these sorts of things. Other wise, we wouldn't be able to solve the problem."

His mother takes a swig of water from the thermos she keeps in her purse. She looks at the floor. Apologetically, she mumbles that she didn't know, and Dave isn't really sure if she is talking to him or to the doctor. After a minute, she looks up at Dave, and mumbles something.

"What?" Dave can't hear her.

"Who was it?" She closes her eyes, and takes a breath. She sounds angry, now, as if it's Dave's fault that he was too scared to tell her.

Dave swallows. He doesn't know if he wants to tell her any more. Pat is staring at him like a vulture that's spotted an abandoned picnic. He feels like he's at the bottom of a well. He can't see anything except for the florescent lights on the ceiling. Eventually, he says, quietly, "Hummel." As soon as he says it, he knows it was the wrong choice. His mother begins to cry and Pat looks triumphant, if a little confused.

"I knew it," his mother says. "I knew that boy was at fault. David, what did he do to you?"

"Who is Hummel?" Doctor Pat leans forward and Dave is reminded of Professor Umbridge in the fifth Harry potter movie. Her smile is prying, patronizing, frightening and sweet at the same time.

"He's a homosexual at David's school," Dave's mother says. "He wears girl's clothes and is extremely… _open _about his perversion. I've told the school that he's a danger to the other students, but they haven't done anything about _it_." Dave is not sure if his mother means _it _as in the problem of Kurt's clothes or _it _as in Kurt. He feels intensely uncomfortable, wondering if his mom now thinks of him as _it._

"I see. Well, Mrs. Karofsky, please understand that this other boy is a victim, too. He doesn't have parents who care as much as you do about the welfare of their son. I'm sure he's confused, as well."

"I can't feel sympathy for a boy who has-who has _molested_ my son!"

Dave interrupts. "He didn't molest me, Mom."

"You said he kissed you!" Dave's mother is crying, and her voice is cracking, and her mascara is running. Dave is beginning to suspect that Doctor Pat feeds on human tears, because right now she is leering, grinning at him, a piranha moving in for the kill.

"I kissed him, Mom. He pushed me away."

The next half-hour is hell for Dave. When they drive home, his mother looks away from him. "I can't drive," she says. "I'm a wreck."

Dave gets into the driver's seat, and as he does he feels like a wreck, too.


	3. In Which Dave Walks To School

Friday morning, Dave wakes up early. His clock says that it's 3:47. Dave can't fall back to sleep once he is up, because, he realizes, today he will have to go back to school.

Dave hasn't seen Kurt since Wednesday, when the kiss happened (Dave thinks of it as just happening—in his head, he avoids the fact that he initiated it). He has been trying not to think about what will happen when Kurt sees him again. Dave is pretty sure that it won't be a positive encounter. He wonders, with increasing anxiety, whether Kurt told anyone about the kiss. It's probable that he did, and Dave knows it. If Kurt has told even one person… Dave is realistic about the likelihood of the whole school knowing. After all, if it had been anyone else who had made out with another dude, Dave himself would have gladly spread the story around. Who wouldn't?

Dave starts to imagine what the school day is going to be like, and then stops, because he is hoping that it won't come to pass. He covers his head with his pillow, feeling like he's made a jump from the highest cliff in the world and is now plummeting solidly toward the ground.

Eventually, Dave gets up and showered and dressed. He leaves the house at five-thirty with his backpack and walks to school, because he knows that his parents will be up soon, and he doesn't want to talk to them, and more than anything he doesn't want to ride to school in his mom's car. The streets are still dark. Dave lives in a suburb of about two thousand houses. All of them have a variation on the same basic floorplan. As he passes each house, he counts off the different styles: porch with one window and a room over the garage, porch with two windows and a two-car garage, porch taking up the front of the house with a garage attached to the back. Eventually, Dave leaves his neighborhood. He walks past the gas station on the corner and the grocery store. He stops for a second in front of the auto shop where Kurt's dad works. He remembers looking through the phone book for the place's number, last year, and prank-calling it with Azimio and Matt.

"Your son's a fag," he had said to Mr. Hummel, as obnoxiously as possible, before hanging up the phone as his friends laughed raucously behind him. It wasn't the most creative of pranks, but it had been effective in that Kurt seemed unhappy for several days afterwards.

Dave wonders about Kurt's dad. He's never met Mr. Hummel, and he wonders, now, what his reaction had been to learning Kurt was gay. Dave tries to picture how Mr. Hummel had found out about Kurt, whether Kurt had told him or whether something had happened to make him realize. Dave wonders for a second if Kurt's ever dated anyone, and remembers a week last year where Kurt dressed like a normal guy and held Brittany's hand between classes. Brittany, Dave surmises, was Kurt's experiment in heterosexuality. After that one week, Kurt had, apparently, rejected the idea of trying to be straight and gone back to his usual self, openly flamboyant and almost offensively proud. For that week, though, nobody had teased him. Dave remembers what he had thought of Kurt as he sat behind him in his French class that week. Kurt was wearing a plaid flannel shirt and consciously using a lower voice than usual as he pronounced the French words. _What a poser, _Dave had thought, then. _You can't hide what you are. Even if you try to pretend, you're still the same gay faggot you always have been._

It hurts to think about the memory too much, because now he has to admit that it might apply to him, too, so Dave walks by the auto shop, and looks at his feet until it's out of sight.

Dave doesn't really know what to do when he gets to school—it's still only five to six and nobody's there but the staff and the early-morning cheer practice. He sits down by the front of the school, under the awning, but the cement is cold and so he stands again, awkwardly, feeling too big for his skin.

People start arriving around six thirty. When a teacher comes to unlock the front doors, Dave goes inside the school. The halls are empty, still, and so he gets to his locker and then to the door of his first-period class before anyone sees him. But the door is locked, and Dave has to stand there like an idiot, worrying, wondering if he should leave now while he still has the chance. What is he supposed to do?

When Finn Hudson passes him in the hallway, Dave glares at him, hoping that he doesn't know and thinking in the back of his mind that Finn probably does. Finn ignores him, though, and he doesn't laugh at Dave, or point, and Dave calms down a little, for a minute. He decides that it's better to walk around the school than to stand by the geometry room looking like an idiot, so he heads down the hallway toward the library, thinking that maybe he can find a table there and wait it out until first bell. In Dave's mind, every person he passes in the hallway can see what he did. The freshman girl with the blond hair pulled back in a headband knows, and so does the Asian kid with the glasses and the striped shirt. Everyone knows, Dave thinks. He checked his reflection in the mirror this morning, and it looked the same as ever, but now he starts to think that they can see something he can't. Does he have a sign on his forehead reading _fag_?

"Homo!"

Dave jumps and spins around, raising his fists unconsciously. There is nobody standing behind him. At the far end of the hall, two baseball players throw an empty slushy cup into the garbage and round the corner, leaving Kurt Hummel, whose shirt, face and hair are suddenly dripping with red liquid, standing alone clutching his book bag with an expression of utter contempt. He doesn't say anything to the two baseball players, though. Their laughter echoes down the hallway. Dave feels the lump in his throat grow painfully large at the sight of Kurt, and he practically runs down the hallway away from the other boy, hoping that Kurt didn't see him. He ducks into the library and stays there until class starts. Kurt doesn't come and find him.

In first and second period, nobody says anything to Dave outside the ordinary. He begins to think that maybe Kurt hasn't told anyone about the kiss, but he still picks at his fingernails nervously when he thinks about it.

The English teacher calls him after class, and he swallows loudly, but she just wants to let him know that he failed his test last week, and that he'll have to make it up after school today. He nods, and as he leaves the room, she asks him,

"Karofsky, are you all right? You don't look well."

Dave feels her watching him, and so he nods hastily and moves out of the room, thinking _no, I'm not all right._

In third period, the black girl, Mercedes, leans over in her desk to talk to Dave with a look on her face that makes him worry intensely. He decides to try and ignore her, but he is concerned that whatever she says will be loud enough for the whole class to hear. Her lips are smeared with some sort of shiny gloss, and they form a fierce pout.

"What did you do to Kurt?" Mercedes says, or hisses, and Dave thinks, oh thank god, because she doesn't know everything, even if she knows something.

"I don't know," he says. "What did he tell you?"

Mercedes looks like she wants to sock him. She starts to say something, but then the teacher starts talking about turning their homework in and Dave pretends that he has lost all interest in her. It's half an hour later, during open work time, with everyone around them raising their voices in conversation, that she pulls her desk over and starts talking.

"Kurt said that on Wednesday you pushed him into a locker, and he followed you into the guys' locker room to confront you about it—which is good, because you dickheads are always messing with him—and then you did something. He won't tell me what. What the hell did you do to my best friend, Karofsky?"

Dave shrugs, and he says nothing. He is relieved beyond the point of words that Mercedes doesn't know about the kiss. If she doesn't know, then nobody does. And now, he realizes as he looks around the room, everyone seems to think he beat Kurt up on Wednesday. He feels a little guilty about his relief. It's only a matter of time before people at school find out, he thinks, but thank god. Thank god that there is any time at all.

At lunch, he sits with Azimio and the other Titans, like he always does. He gets up from the table early to go to his locker, and on the way back up the stairs, he feels the floor drop from under his feet.

"There he is," says Kurt, to a guy that Dave doesn't recognize. Dave doesn't know what is going on, and now he is more than a little worried about it. The guy with Kurt is tall, and stands like Kurt does, holding himself up confidently. He has a loose swagger and dark hair, and it occurs to Dave that he can't be from McKinley, because if he was Dave would have heard about him.

They come up to him, Kurt and the other guy, and Dave says something stupid and asks Kurt if the other guy is his boyfriend, which he feels is a legitimate question. The other guy looks gay enough, and he's good-looking, and so probably Kurt's type. The guy smiles, and it's a friendly smile, jovial, but Dave feels like he is being made fun of, and he feels his stance get a little defensive.

"I have to get to class." Dave moves past them, and he might have put his hand on Kurt's shoulder for a second. Maybe, if you were being a wimp about it, it might have looked like he pushed Kurt.

"Kurt told me what you did," the guy says, and Dave, who up until now has been pretending that the kiss might have been a bad dream, realizes that it wasn't, and that now a complete stranger knows that Dave Karofsky is a fag. Dave steps back a little. It seems, suddenly, that nobody is on the stairs, and Dave wonders if he heard the bell ring for fourth period. He can't remember.

"Oh yeah?" he says, and he regrets it, because now Kurt feels compelled to specify exactly what happened, and he says it in such an accusatory way that Dave flinches inwardly. It isn't like he expected Kurt to suddenly fall in love with him or anything—that would be stupid. Dave knows that. He knew that. It still hurts, though, to realize that Kurt still hates him exactly as much as he always has.

Dave looks around to see if anyone is listening to the conversation, and he backs up a few paces. The dark-haired boy takes this as his cue to move in and start talking to Dave like he knows what he's going through, which, Dave thinks, is just about the funniest fucking thing he's heard all year. How could this guy, whose very eyes scream _gay, _know what Dave is going through? Here Dave is, with his football jacket and his Payless shoes and his cheap Gap jeans, just trying to be normal, just trying to blend in, because he can't afford to stand out. And this guy, this guy with his damn white toothed smile and his damn near perfect hair, who is probably out and proud and full of himself, is telling Dave that he isn't alone. This guy, who has never known what being alone means, who probably has parents at home who say things like, "I love you no matter what you are." This guy has probably never been dragged to Doctor Pat's office or seen his mom cry because of something he is. This guy doesn't have to doubt himself and wonder every second what to believe, and so Dave slams him against the wire mesh of the stair railing.

"Do not," he starts to say, and he doesn't know what he's really going to say.

Do not tell anyone about what I did.

Do not pretend that you know me.

Do not tell me that I am not alone.

Do not tell me that it's going to be okay when everything's okay already for you, when I have to deal with something that you've never had to cope with.

Do not smile at me because you are what I have always wanted to be.

Before he knows what it was that he was going to say, Kurt is pushing him away from the dark-haired boy and telling him that he has to stop this. So Dave walks away down the stairs and tries to figure out what, exactly, he has to stop.


	4. In Which There is A Confrontation

After school, Dave goes in to the English room to re-take his test. The only other person in the room is his teacher, who isn't paying attention to him. Outside, the sky is grey. It already feels like winter. The trees are completely bare. Dave tries to remember what a _pedant_ is, and if it has anything to do with pendants. He doesn't really care. When he turns his test in, the teacher sees that, while he's improved his score, he has still failed to correctly define at least three of the fifteen words.

Dave grabs his bag and leaves the halls while there are still people in them. He passes Mercedes again on the way out the door, and he tries to ignore her, but rather abruptly she grabs his arm, with a look that tells him she has something to say and will not be prevented from saying it. Dave doesn't hit girls, or anyway he mostly tries not to, so he lets her steer him outside and out of the way of the stream of kids exiting the school.

Mercedes says, "Okay, fat boy, start talking."

Dave is forced to reconsider his policy of not hitting girls, though eventually he decides that there isn't enough to be gained here to warrant punching Mercedes for that insult. There are people everywhere. Besides, she's Kurt's best friend, and…

"Don't call me that," he says instead.

Mercedes raises an eyebrow. "So start talking. What happened on Wednesday that Kurt won't tell me? I asked him again at lunch, and he just shut his mouth and walked off like a princess with that Blaine kid he's hot for. He's barely talking to me."

The last bit distracts Dave—Blaine, he thinks, must have been the kid with Kurt who'd confronted Dave at lunch- but he knows better than to ask about the specifics. If he were straight, he wouldn't care who Kurt is hot for, and would not pay the slightest bit of attention to the boy's name. He corrects himself mentally. He doesn't care, he reminds himself. Or he does, but he doesn't (it makes sense to him).Then he remembers that he kissed Kurt on Wednesday, and Mercedes is waiting for him to tell her, and so he stands there, Mercedes glowering at him, wondering what he should say. Eventually, he evades her question rather lamely.

"I didn't hurt him any more than anyone else," Dave says, which is probably true, he thinks, but maybe not in the way Mercedes means. Mercedes isn't really mollified by Dave's explanation. She jabs him in the chest and says, with that ferocious, dead serious look black people can give when they're mad that scares the hell out of Dave,

"Karofsky, if you don't tell me what went on in that damn locker room I swear to God that I am going to castrate you in front of the whole god damn state of Ohio." She makes an obscene gesture into the air to illustrate her point. Dave slowly becomes aware of several people staring at them. It must be a sight, he thinks to himself, this short pudgy girl scaring the shit out of a hundred-ten kilo football player.

"Fine," he whispers, or croaks, pushing her back because she is way too close for comfort. "I'll tell you. But not here." The statement sounds gay even as he says it, but Dave has made up his mind. If he could tell Dr. Pat, he can tell someone else. And in spite of the voice in the back of his head that says he doesn't want people to know, Dave really wants to get all of this shit out of the way, and just say what happened and let people find out. It's stressful to do this, he thinks, to always be evading people's questions. He knows he isn't going be able to handle it when the football team finds out, but he'll deal with that, because that can't be half as bad as having his parents know, which has already happened, anyway.

He and Mercedes start walking, and he waits until they're past the front of the school, out in the parking lot by the dumpsters, before he stops and turns, looking around nervously. Mercedes puts her hands on her hips and scowls, tapping her foot expectantly.

"I kissed him," Dave says, and his voice isn't really his, and he thinks, _Oh fuck, I'm going to start crying. Do not let me start crying. Do not- _

Mercedes doesn't understand for a second. She stands there, looking at Dave like he has started transforming into Bigfoot, confused and not quite getting his point. She scowls deeper, and tilts her head, and then she says, in a voice that doesn't really match her threats from a few minutes earlier,

"What?"

"Don't make me say it again," Dave says, in a growling voice that is more like his own, and he turns to leave, and he starts to walk off.

"Wait," Mercedes says, too loudly. "You did what? You kissed-? Who?"

Dave feels a little sorry for her, then, because she looks so lost, like a little kid who has been told that shoes are for eating. "Kurt," he tells her. He pauses, watching her, and clarifies. "I kissed—Kurt." He takes a deep breath, the cold winter air rushing into his lungs. He feels like there is a weight off his chest now that he had said it, even though technically he has already told his mom and Doctor Pat. "Do you need me to spell it out for you?"

Mercedes' mouth forms a small O. "Are you serious?"

Dave turns to leave again, but Mercedes follows him. Suddenly she is less aggressive, her face sympathetic. Dave recognizes that expression. He has noticed a pattern here. People try to make you admit what you did with aggression, and threats, and wolfish smiles, and then they pity you because of it. He anticipates Mercedes telling him that she is going to help him, as she walks two paces behind him.

"You're gay?" Mercedes asks instead.

"No," Dave says quickly, a defensive mechanism. He doesn't really even think about it.

"But you kissed Kurt."

"That's what I said."

Mercedes rolls her eyes. She has to walk two steps for every one of Dave's. "Why didn't Kurt tell me?" she wonders aloud. "I guess it would be sort of awkward."

Dave shrugs.

"What happened, exactly?" Mercedes is being friendlier to Dave, in her tone at least, than she has ever been before, and it's a little annoying. "I mean, you've been beating Kurt up for years. Kurt said that you slammed him into a locker. How did that turn into kissing him?"

Dave doesn't feel like he really has to answer that question. He says nothing, and lets Mercedes fill in the details with her imagination.

"Did he kiss you back?" Mercedes asks next.

Dave's expression gives her the answer before Dave even opens his mouth, but eventually, he says, quietly, "No." He feels big and dumb and ugly, feels like a chubby boy who sweats too much and will be bald by the time he's thirty. Dave has pimples on his face and he isn't romantic, and the only kisses he has had have been as ugly as he is. In his head, Kurt pushes him away and his mother slaps him across the face. In his head, in his memory, Dave looks at himself in the mirror after spending hours sitting on his bed, staring at the computer, breathing hard. His face is red. He hates himself so much.

"You like him?" Mercedes' question jerks Dave back to reality. They are standing on a corner, waiting for the light above the crosswalk to turn green. Dave considers jaywalking. Mercedes is looking at him, and so he nods. "You can't expect him to like you back, you know," she says, and Dave grits his teeth, but he nods again.

"I know."


	5. In Which Dave Recieves Texts

_**How to Come Out of the Closet**_

_By an eHow Contributor _

_Experts say that about a third of gay youth will attempt suicide, which is four times the average of heterosexual youth. Maturity and a stronger sense of self can make it easier to come out as an adult, but how it goes depends a lot on religious beliefs and tolerances already developed among families and friends. Here are some guidelines to make your coming out a bit easier._

_Difficulty: Challenging_

_Instructions._

_1. Don't put yourself on a deadline for coming out. Some gay partners who already are out may pressure you, but wait until you are really ready._

_2. Start with your friends before your family. Your true friends will appreciate your honesty and be touched you were willing to share. Those who shun you will eventually come around and those who don't were never really your friends to begin with._

_3. Delivering the news through a third party is a bad idea. Your family will want to hear it directly from you and will resent finding out from someone else._

_4. Avoid coming out in an angry or defensive tone. That creates emotionally charged situations where no one is really listening._

_5. Give family members a chance to absorb the news before expecting the worst. If you had good relationships with your parents prior to coming out, chances are they will accept it. It might be right away or it might be a while. Be patient._

_Read more: How to Come Out of the Closet | .com/how_2046784_#ixzz15H3YOOHb_

Dave closes the browser and logs off.

He is at the public library, on the computer there because he can't go home. He walked to his house after Mercedes went back to her car, but his father's car was there in his driveway already. Dave's father never comes home from work early on a Friday, not unless there is an emergency, so Dave is scared.

The Lima Public Library closes sometime around seven, and it is six thirty now. Dave's phone has been ringing for the last hour, his mother's number flashing on the screen. He doesn't turn the phone off, but he doesn't answer. He isn't mad at his mother, but he does not want to talk to her right now. He can't handle thinking about his parents, or what he has to be around them. He knows he'll get in trouble for not picking up, but Dave figures that that is the least of his problems.

Dave doesn't go home when he leaves the library. Instead he walks away from the suburbs and toward the freeway. He isn't really sure what he's doing. It's cold out, and his football jacket isn't warm enough. It is dark out already, and the streetlights flicker above him. Cars pass Dave by, splashing through the puddles on the side of the road. Dave looks up at the sky, which is full of low clouds that seem to speak of impending doom. He decides that he needs to get indoors, somewhere. Starbucks is closed already, so he starts walking vaguely toward Denny's, where he thinks he will get dinner.

He checks his phone.

_Where r you, Dave?_

_You r in serious trouble young man_

_Dave come home_

In addition to the three texts, which are each written an hour apart, he has eight missed calls. All of them are from his mother. Dave puts the phone back into his pocket and stands on the side of the street, his eyes closed, wishing that one of the cars on the road will just run over the curb and hit him, so he doesn't have to think. At the same time, he knows that that would be a cop-out, the death of a coward or a scared little boy. The streetlight above him only has one good bulb.

Dave keeps walking. He goes to Denny's, but once he's there, under the bright lights, the air smelling of grease and syrup, he realizes that he only has two bucks in quarters and nickels, which isn't enough to get anything besides coffee. Before the waitress can bring him a menu, he leaves again, and it starts to rain. It isn't a heavy rain, but Dave worries a little about the papers in his backpack getting wet. He ducks under the cover of a bus stop to rearrange his bag, and he sits down on the narrow metal bench. He looks at the graffiti, which is mostly obscene words, and phone numbers. He puts his head in his hands. A bus comes, and stops, but he doesn't get on. He wonders what his parents would say if he hitch-hiked to Cincinnati and never came home. He realizes that his parents have been waiting for him for four hours. He thinks, _shit,_ and he thinks, _I hate this, _and eventually he decides that he has nowhere to go but home, not really, so he stands up. The clock on his phone says that it's seven thirty.

A car pulls up beside Dave as he walks back toward the suburbs, and Dave doesn't look at it for a second. He knows that it isn't his mom's car by the size. It moves along next to him, slowly, and he hears the sound of a window rolling down. Dave stares straight ahead at the sidewalk, worrying, hoping that the car will speed up and drive away. He does not look over to see who the driver is, remembering stories of people being assaulted, kidnapped, or killed on rainy nights like this one.

"Do you need a ride?"

It's Kurt's voice.

Dave stops walking, and the car stops too, and Dave looks over, sure for a second that he is imagining things. Kurt Hummel, with his beautiful eyes and his stupid scarf, is at the wheel of the car, leaning over the passenger seat toward the open window, with an expression on his face that Dave can't really read. Dave scowls, and Kurt says,

"It's not a trick question. If you don't need a ride, that's fine too." His stereo is playing something by Lady Gaga, loudly. He turns it down and looks over at Dave again, one eyebrow raised.

Dave senses that some sort of chance is about to pass him by, so he shakes his head. "No, I do. Thanks." He walks over to the car and opens the door. He hesitates again before getting in, trying to understand what's going on. He stands there uncertainly, car door wide, rain falling on the seat inside as he decides whether or not to run as fast as he can in the opposite direction.

"I'm not paying to heat the outside of the car," says Kurt, brushing his hair back over his ear, and Dave wonders if that's an attempt at humor. He gets in and shuts the door, putting his wet backpack on the floor of the car, and Kurt rolls the window back up. Lady Gaga sings, _do you want love or do you want fame? _Kurt smiles, a little awkwardly, as Dave pulls on his seat belt. Dave still half expects Kurt to kick him out of the car, but Kurt just puts the car in gear and pulls away from the curb. He looks through the windshield, not at Dave, as he asks, "Where are you going?"

"I don't know," Dave says. He doesn't really. He was going to go home and face his parents, because he was sure there was nowhere else he would be safe, but now he isn't sure.

"Well, neither do I," says Kurt, smirking as he stares out past the frantic windshield wipers and shifts into another lane. "I can't read your mind." He glances over at Dave, who swallows hard but keeps eye contact. Kurt has this expression that makes Dave think he can read people's minds. There is a pause, and Kurt says, more quietly, "I'm not sure how you expect me to figure out where I'm supposed to go from here." Dave suspects, suddenly, that Kurt is not just talking about the car.

Dave looks away from Kurt. He picks his fingernails. "Sorry."

He jumps as Kurt lets out a loud, barking laugh, which for a second drowns out the music coming from the stereo.

"What was that? An apology?" Kurt glances over at Dave, an expression of surprise and mock delight on his face. "Did I just hear Dave Karofsky apologize? Call the papers!"

"Look, I…" Dave starts to say something, but stops, unsure of what Kurt is thinking. He can't tell if he's angry. _I mean, _he thinks, _I'd be pissed, if some guy had beaten me up and forced himself on me without any explanation. _He stares out the window at the car tail-lights reflecting off the puddles on the side of the road. There is a moment of near silence in the car, as the song ends. "I'm sorry."

"Isn't that apology a bit belated?" Kurt asks, and adjusts the rearview mirror on the ceiling of the car. The rain is coming down harder now. Dave doesn't know what _belated_ means. "I mean, at least you apologized at all, I suppose, but I think I deserved one a little sooner. Perhaps some kind of explanation into the bargain would be nice as well, if I'm not being too greedy."

Dave looks down at his feet. Kurt's voice isn't wrathful, but it's sarcastic and dry and cutting, and Dave knows that by apologizing he's opening himself up—now that Kurt knows he feels bad about what happened, he can make Dave hurt if he wants. Dave doesn't know if Kurt is that kind of person.

Kurt pulls the car off the road and into a department store's parking lot. The car tires splash as they move through the puddles. He parks the car and turns off the gas, but makes no move to get out, instead looking expectantly at Dave. Dave looks at Kurt for a brief moment and then, feeling the blood rush to his face, he looks away and examines his shoes some more. Eventually, Kurt sighs and sits back in his seat, staring up at the car's ceiling.

"Well, okay, how about you just answer some questions. Can you do that?"

Dave looks over at Kurt. He doesn't look angry, Dave thinks, just exasperated and tired and confused. Dave nods. He's noticed that he can answer a lot of questions just by moving his head.

"Okay, first off—you were the one who told Mercedes about what happened, right? She called me right after school today to ask about it, and I certainly didn't mention it."

Dave starts. "Yeah," he says. Kurt looks over at him, interest in his eyes. "She asked," Dave starts to explain. "She's your…your friend, so I figured she'd find out anyway. And," he pauses. "She scares me."

Kurt laughs quietly, almost to himself. "Yes, she scares me a little too, sometimes." He pauses. "But really, she just asked you and you told her?"

"She threatened to castrate me. But yeah." Dave looks at Kurt to see his reaction. Kurt looks at Dave pensively for a second, as if he's considering some possibility that he had never thought about before. His eyes are really big, Dave thinks. They look right through you. It isn't so much that Kurt's eyes are that pretty, even—it's just the way that they convey emotion. Kurt's eyes make him look much older than he really is sometimes. Dave thinks that he can see what Kurt will look like at thirty or forty, when he sees the other boy's eyes.

"Karofsky," Kurt says, after a minute. "Did you tell anyone else?"

Dave gulps. "I told my… my mom. I didn't tell anyone else at school, if that's what you're worried about. You can pretend that it didn't happen, if you want. Or…" he pauses, trying to gauge Kurt's reaction. "Or whatever."

"That's all right, everyone at school already thinks I'm a perverted fag," says Kurt, not so bitterly as Dave would have thought, but almost jovially. "They won't care that I kissed another boy. I was actually thinking about you. I sort of assumed that you didn't want anyone to know, you know, with you being a closet case and all. That's why I didn't tell Mercedes."

"Oh." Dave had not considered the possibility of Kurt thinking about what he wanted. "You told that guy Blaine, though."

Kurt lowers his eyes, and Dave thinks he sees him blush, even in the darkened car. Dave thinks about what Mercedes said earlier, about Kurt being hot for Blaine. "Blaine is different," Kurt says. "Blaine is gay, too. He knows what it's like. He understands what you're going through—he wouldn't tell anyone, or I don't think he would. He can keep a secret."

"I'm not gay," Dave says, and he knows that every time he says it it loses a little more conviction.

"Maybe not," Kurt says, "but you have to admit that most straight guys don't go around making out with other guys. At the very least, you must be confused."

"I know," Dave says, and his eyes feel dry. "I… I just can't do this, now."

Kurt looks a little bit confused. "You can't do what?"

"What you do. I can't go to school dressed like that. I can't be all faggy. You don't care that people throw you into dumpsters or make fun of you because you're… you know who you are, and you do whatever you want. And you can be yourself because the people you care about like you anyway." It's the most that Dave has ever said to Kurt, and he feels his ears burning, the blood vessels in his face forced near the surface of the skin.

Kurt looks taken aback by this sudden outpouring of words as well. He turns the stereo off.

"I mean," Dave says, trying to get everything out, finally, no pun intended, even if it's incredibly embarrassing and sounds gayer than a green carnation, even if Kurt laughs in his face, "I'm not as brave as you. I care when people hate me. I hate it when people hate me. I hate it when my parents yell at me. I can't tell people that I'm…" His voice cracks, but Dave keeps talking. "I have to make them happy. My parents. They're the only people who ever really liked me. Nobody else really likes me. I mean, I'm a dickhead. You know that. I…But if I keep acting like I do, like a football player, like people expect me to act, then everything can be…" He stops, realizing that he's said more than he ever meant to.

"Normal?" Kurt finishes, softly. It's the tone of voice that he uses when he likes people, when he's friends with someone, and it's the sort of voice that has only ever been directed at Dave in Dave's imagination.

"The same," says Dave, and his phone rings. It's his mother, texting him again, and once Dave sees the ID he snaps the phone shut again. Kurt's already seen the message, though.

_Wherever you are don't bother coming home. I hope this teaches u a lesson_


	6. In Which Dave Is Kicked Out

Kurt bites his lip. "Shit. Was that your mom?"

Dave puts the phone back into his pocket hastily, and his face becomes an emotionless mask. Remembering his mom makes him embarrassed. He remembers where he is. "I guess. Look, it's been fabulous sharing my awesome, lady boy sob story with you and crying my eyes out like a little girl, but I've got to get home and see if my parents will let me in."

Kurt frowns, but he doesn't argue or press the point. "Okay, I guess." He revs the engine again and waits for the car to warm back up. "Is it any of my business why they're mad at you?"

"Not really," Dave says, but he continues anyway. He is surprised, pleasantly so, that Kurt is listening to him, even if he doesn't really know why the other boy would bother to. "I haven't picked up my phone since school got out, and they were already sort of ticked off at me." He considers telling Kurt about Doctor Pat, for a second, but that wasn't what Kurt asked about, so he stays silent. Kurt turns the ignition again and backs out of the parking space.

"Why?"

They pull out onto the street in front of the department store, and Dave hears the car's tires splash through a particularly deep puddle. Wet leaves form layers on the edges of the street. The heat in the car is turned up all the way, and it's warm, uncomfortably so. Kurt doesn't seem like he minds, or notices, and Dave is not about to bring it up. He rolls up the sleeves on his jacket and watches the windows, which are slightly fogged up, roll with rain. He answers Kurt haphazardly, slowly.

"They don't like fa—they don't like _gays_. And I told my mom that I… you know," he pauses, looking at Kurt out of the corner of his eye. "That I did what I did. Kissed you. I guess that she found some pictures, some stuff on my computer. She told my dad," he says, his voice raising an octave on the last word. He stops, and clears his throat, and starts again. His face feels inhumanly warm when he rubs his nose. His skin is oily. "They aren't too happy with me."

Kurt takes in a small breath and looks over at Dave.

"You need to turn here," he says, pointing to a diverging street. Kurt nods and moves the steering wheel, and the car turns. They drive until they come to the suburb where Dave lives, and Dave tells Kurt where to turn, and Kurt doesn't say anything else. He stares ahead, through the windshield, a vague frown line dividing and wrinkling his pale forehead. He looks worried.

The car moves slowly down the dark street, in and out of the patches of day cast by the streetlights. Dave wonders if Kurt realizes how late it is. The green LCD on the dashboard says that it's 8:23 at night. That leads Dave to pondering what Kurt was doing driving around downtown in the first place—an errand? He wonders why Kurt stopped for him on the side of the road, and why Kurt even paid enough attention to recognize him. Dave sits and swallows air, pretending that the situation is a normal one, that the emotional charge doesn't exist.

"This is my house," Dave gestures as they pass it, and Kurt stops the car. The engine dies slowly, moving gently into a quiet purr and then into silence. Dave knows that his mom's car never sounds like that—his mom's car always sounds more like an unintelligible dinosaur. Dave guesses that that's just what happens when your dad is a mechanic.

As Dave moves to unbuckle his seat belt and get out, he is suddenly aware of Kurt's hand on his shoulder. He looks over, his eyes widening unconsciously with uncertain anticipation of whatever action will come next. Kurt looks at Dave for a second, making eye contact with him. Kurt hasn't ever really looked at him, or not like that, and Dave isn't sure if it's sympathy or empathy that motivates the boy's quiet stare. Dave sits as still as possible, afraid that if he moves he will do something stupid. Dave's face is twisted into something like confusion, eyebrows raised and features frozen. He blinks, and something about the blink prompts Kurt to hastily cease contact, pulling back as if he has been electrocuted and turning his eyes back toward the steering wheel.

"Good luck."

Dave grunts, still too aware of the indent in his jacket sleeve made by Kurt's hand and too aware of the lingering heat on his shoulder to trust himself to say anything else. He gets out of the car and looks back only once as he slams the door and trudges cautiously toward his porch light.

He knocks on his parent's door after finding that it is locked, and waits on the wet porch as a couple of dying moths flicker around the overhead direct-current light bulb. He hears footsteps, his mother's by the weight of them, approaching the door. He braces himself as she opens it and sees him standing there. She's wearing socks with slippers, and her house robe has been pulled on over her pajamas. Her hair is a static mess. She is livid.

"Where the hell have you been, David." It is not a question, but an accusation. His mother scowls in a way that suggests authority, but her voice betrays her relief and her fear.

"I went to the library," he says lamely.

"The library closed hours ago. What have you been doing?"

Dave looks behind her, into the house. His mother hasn't opened the door all the way but he can see his father in the kitchen, pretending to read the sports section as he listens to the dialogue between Mrs. Karofsky and his son. "I took a walk. I needed some time to think," Dave says. He studies his mother's face, looking for any sign that she believes him.

"It's pouring out."

"I noticed."

"Don't you mouth off to me, young man."

"I'm just saying. I'd be an idiot if I didn't realize it was raining."

His mother scowls at him, her forehead furrowing with a system of deep canals that rivals that of a desert nation, and Dave wishes that he hadn't said what he said. He has been wishing this a lot lately. He wishes that everything could be fine all the time, and that he didn't have to pretend different things with different people.

"How did you get home?"

Dave is put on the spot, and when he is put on the spot he usually either stays silent or tells the truth. "I got a ride home when it started to rain," he says. Seeing the expression on his mother's face—his mother has told him never to hitchhike- he swallows painfully and looks away from her, afraid of her disapproval. He is scared and angry and uncertain of what he is doing, but Dave continues talking. Dave doesn't really know when to shut up, and that's part of it, but it's also that Dave is sick of lying. "With Kurt Hummel."

His mother is silent, her body a statue. Behind her, in the warm light of the kitchen, his father gets up from his chair noisily and storms out of Dave's line of vision, into the living room. Quietly, after a break in the dialogue that seems like hours, his mother whispers,

"I don't want to hear this."

"Mom, please listen to me. I-"

"I don't want to hear it!" His mother's fists are coiled into themselves like the knots in a sailboat's rigging, and the door swings open slowly, making squeaky-hinge noises and exposing the entryway to the elements. "I don't know you anymore, Dave. I don't know who you are. I thought I knew my own son, but you've been concealing all of this from me. I don't understand this. I'm losing you. I can't hang on to you anymore. You're not the son I raised."

Dave stares at the old woman who is his mother, feeling lost. She shuts the door in his face, and says, through the wood,

"I just don't know, Dave."

Dave stands on the porch for a second before slamming both fists into the door as hard as he can. The door shakes and he hears his mother moving up the stairs, quickly. He feels the tears on his face and hates them, hates the salty taste.

"So what!" he yells, through the door. "You just shut me out of your house?" His voice cracks. "You aren't supposed to shut—" he lowers his voice as he presses his hands against the wood, "—the door." Dave rocks back, staring at the door as if he can't understand what it is. His face looks wild, his nose and cheeks red with cold and anger.

He walks off the porch, because the light from the direct-current light bulb is making him aware of himself, and he steps out of the puddle of angry yellow illumination into the wet night. He takes a few steps away from the house and stops. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices a figure watching him. He looks up to see Kurt standing halfway between his car and Dave, his arms crossed over his chest because of the cold. His breath is visible on the air.

"What are you going to do?"

Dave doesn't say anything. He hears the sound of his own breath, choked off by surprise and anger at his parents. Kurt moves toward Dave, and then steps back again, his face the definition of uncertainty. He seems to be deciding whether or not to say something.

Dave takes a few shallow breaths and blinks hard. He looks over at Kurt, standing there, worried about him, maybe. Dave feels incredibly alone, and his chest aches. All Dave wants to do in that moment is hug Kurt, feel the heat emanating from his small body, hold him and be held and feel secure for a minute, one minute in many thousands of sixty-second increments, but he senses that it wouldn't be the right thing to do. Instead he jams his hands into his pockets, to show that he isn't going to do anything.

Kurt asks, softly, "Did they kick you out?"

Dave shrugs. "Not sure, but the door is locked and they're pissed."

Kurt shifts backward, deflating. "They…"

"I told them I got a ride with you."

Kurt looks toward Dave curiously.

"They don't like you." Dave pauses. Kurt still looks confused. "You're sort of out there, and it makes them… uncomfortable. They saw you on the Cheerios team at the last game. That's really the only reason, or it was before I told them what happened. Now they think I'm dating you or something, I guess." He trails off as he realizes what he is saying, mouth running faster than his common sense. "I mean, I know we're not, but they think… So they don't want me there."

"Are you saying it's my fault that your parents booted you out of your house?" Kurt is defensive, using the same tone of voice that he was on Wednesday after Dave pushed him into the lockers.

"No."

Kurt sighs and runs his fingers through his hair. "Okay. Sorry. I know that's not what you meant." He closes his eyes for a second, as if mentally prepping for a strenuous exercise. "So, they really aren't letting you in?"

"No. I think I gave my mom a mental breakdown."

Kurt hugs himself and takes a deep breath. "I guess that you need someplace to stay tonight, huh." He isn't looking at Dave. Beneath his feet, the lawn is muddy.

"I have the keys to my mom's car. I can sleep in there."

Kurt pauses, squinting at Dave in the dark and trying to figure out if he's serious. Dave is—the heat in his mom's car doesn't work, but there's a blanket in the back, and he could probably work something out.

"You don't have anywhere else?" Dave is aware of what Kurt is getting at, too. He is afraid of what it would mean if he stayed over at Kurt's house. It would mean discarding that piece of him that wanted to keep his parents happy. As much as Dave might try to hide a kiss that lasted for all of five seconds, he couldn't hide an overnight, and even if people believed that he and Kurt weren't dating, they would definitely learn why he'd been kicked out. Dave knows he won't be able to hide.

"I guess not."

Kurt sighs, and Dave gets the impression that he's gritting his teeth, but he asks anyway, because he's a nice guy and because, maybe, he likes Dave a little more than he did a few days ago.

It isn't really about staying over at Kurt's. It's about whether Dave wants to be, now. It's a decision made slowly, and as Dave makes it he isn't conscious of it. It happens piece by piece, until he comes to his conclusion without saying to himself that that is what it is—a conclusion, a realization, an action that will lead to other reactions until someone's life has changed.


	7. In Which it is Close To Midnight

Kurt's car pulls into the darkened driveway of the Hummel's' split-level, and he turns off the engine and the lights. Dave sits in the seat; uncomfortably aware of how wet he is relative to the back of his chair. The rain is still coming down in buckets outside. The heater is blasting stale, hot air at his face as they pull in. It continues to do so until the moment Kurt opens the car door. The cool, damp air circulating through his lungs reminds Dave of where he is and what, exactly, he is doing: preparing to enter Kurt Hummel's house, and presumably, to meet his family.

Dave's mind is in a state of panic.

Kurt goes around the back of the car and opens the trunk.

"Are you just going to sit there? Come help me with these groceries." He pulls a half-gallon of milk and two paper bags from the back of the car. Dave throws open his door and rounds the car with his backpack, grabbing a carton of eggs, a package of paper towels and a bag of coffee filters. Having something to carry makes him feel less anxious; he has something to do, a reason for being there, a purpose. He is helping Kurt with the groceries. Once they're all out of the car—there aren't many—he shuts the door to the trunk and follows Kurt to the front steps.

As Kurt rattles the key in the lock, though, Dave shifts his weight from foot to foot. He isn't sure about this. He has not been sure about anything these days. The soles of his shoes suction to his feet; his socks are soaked through with rainwater from his walking earlier. Kurt hastily throws his scarf over his shoulder as he picks up the grocery bag again, and he steps inside the house.

The Hummel house is…average. Dave doesn't really know what he was expecting, but it doesn't look much different from his family's own. The furniture, which is more or less ordinary, is centered and arranged around a flat-screen television in a living room off the entryway, and there are family photos hanging in the hall, many of them featuring a woman who must be Kurt's mother. Kurt's dad, a big man in his mid-forties, is on the couch, watching the television, and he looks up at the sound of the door.

"Hi, Dad," says Kurt as he and Dave enter, and he walks toward the kitchen briskly, arms laden with groceries. His strut is matter-of-fact, and he seems unconcerned about his father's reaction to having a stranger in the house. Dave makes an awkward wave and gives a smile that comes out more like a grimace as he follows Kurt into the kitchen and sets the bags on the counter. He makes eye contact with Kurt for a second as the smaller boy goes about putting the perishable items into their respective compartments in the refrigerator. Kurt gives a little shrug, which Dave doesn't really know how to interpret. He sits on a wicker stool by the marble-topped counter, since he doesn't know where anything goes. His feet drip water and mud onto the floor, but Dave doesn't notice.

In the living room, Burt Hummel decides to address the situation that has presented itself, without warning, in his home. He doesn't get up, but remains on the couch, legs propped up on the coffee table.

"So Kurt," he yells into the kitchen, over the sound of the game, not even bothering to mute it, "I sent you out for coffee filters and you bring home a boy. Am I going to get an introduction?"

Kurt breathes through his nose, pressing his lips together and shoving a head of lettuce into its respective refrigerator compartment. He finishes the groceries, not looking at Dave, and takes his time folding each bag up and putting it under the sink, delaying the inevitable. When he's done, he takes off his scarf and hangs it over a lamp. He pulls Dave with him into the living room.

"Dad, this is Dave Karofsky."

Burt raises his eyebrows and nods toward Dave, putting out his hand in Dave's direction. They shake hands, and Dave mumbles a greeting, wondering if Burt Hummel knows his name, wondering if Kurt's told him about all of the bullying. He can't look the man in the eye, thinking about all of the times he's thrown Kurt into dumpsters. "Nice to meet you," Burt says, almost sincerely, if a little edgily, and Dave thinks that Mr. Hummel probably doesn't know a thing—if he did, Dave figures, Dave Karofsky would be out on his sorry ass in the rain again. He gets the sense that Burt Hummel isn't one who takes kindly to people who mess with Kurt.

"Dave," says Burt. "Okay." Now he turns to the television, where white-clad sportsmen vie for control of a football, and puts it on _mute_. "How do you know Kurt? Are you doing a school project with him or are you his, uh," he pauses, looking at Kurt, saying nothing else, the last noun implied but not stated for fear of embarrassing someone. Kurt shakes his head sharply, and so Burt finishes with, "…friend?"

Kurt smoothes the front of his shirt, and he shows only the barest hint of anxiety. "Dave's a classmate," he says, which is true. "He's a friend," Kurt adds, which isn't, or at least isn't to Dave's knowledge, anywhere remotely near the truth.

"Okay," Mr. Hummel says. It is not approval, but a prompting, a query for more information.

Kurt pauses, not sure what the script is past this point, and looks at Dave, and turns back to Burt Hummel. Dave doesn't say anything, and hopes he won't be asked to say anything. He avoids Kurt's eyes, looking instead at the game on the screen. Kurt rolls his eyes toward the ceiling, looks at the floor, and finally moves to sit next to his father, crossing his legs and resting his hands on top of his knee delicately, like a female talk show host. His hair, still slightly damp, droops across his forehead.

"Dave's parents just kicked him out of the house," Kurt says, making it real for Dave again as he says it, "and he needs somewhere to stay tonight. I know it is on short notice, but he really doesn't have anywhere else, and it's raining out. I didn't want to be responsible for his getting hypothermia and dying like an idiot when he tried to sleep on someone's porch."

Mr. Hummel looks over at Dave, who confirms the first part of the statement with a halfhearted nod. He feels like he should add something to the dialogue, as he hasn't said anything. "I'm sorry about this," he says, the third or fourth apology he's made in twelve hours. "You really don't know how much I appreciate it." His smile is still forced, and Dave sees Kurt looking uncomfortable.

Mr. Hummel looks Dave in the eye carefully and turns back to Kurt. "Why'd he get kicked out?"

Kurt's self-conscious smile turns into a halfhearted wince. He looks strained. He glances uneasily over at Dave, who sits on the arm of a chair, picking at a piece of lint on his shirtsleeve. Dave swallows, trying to work up the balls to say it aloud. He can't, though, and shrugs instead. He looks apologetically at Kurt. He is hoping that Kurt won't feel any pressing need to give Mr. Hummel details on why Dave's parents aren't happy with him. Kurt seems flustered and uncrosses, then re-crosses his legs. He looks at Dave again, helplessly, as Mr. Hummel looks between the two boys, an expression of suspicious concern on his face.

"Look, Dave, I don't know you," he starts. "I trust Kurt's judgments, and I am not denying that you might be a nice guy. But I have to say, I do think that I should have some input as to who is allowed in my house. Since you've already been invited, I won't turn you away…" he turns his head and looks over at Kurt with a mildly accusatory glare, and Kurt lowers his eyes. "But I do need to know why your own parents don't want you around. Most people don't throw their kid out unless it's for a good reason. What did you do?" Mr. Hummel turns so he faces away from his son and toward Dave.

Dave shifts in his seat and slouches. Kurt is staring at him with wide eyes and mouths _help me out here._ Dave bites his lip.

"It's… tough to talk about." He pauses, not sure how to continue. "It's sort of..."

Burt Hummel isn't one to beat around the bush. "Does it involve illegal activity or drugs?"

"No." Dave is pretty sure of this, though if you told him it was illegal to look at other guys in the locker room, he might have believed you.

"Well, good," Burt says, leaning back a little onto the couch, a note of relief in his voice, and he looks at Kurt, who nods. Kurt opens his mouth, looks at Dave, and raises his eyebrows. _Can I say something?_ Dave nods, or shrugs, and Kurt says,

"It's sort of a difference in personal values. They don't see eye to eye, and have not been up to discussing the issues with Dave. Rather than deal with the differences in opinion in a civilized manner, they refused to let him into their house." Kurt looks pleased with his rendition of the facts, which is the truth, albeit minus some key points. Burt Hummel looks at Kurt, and at Dave, and shrugs in a way that suggests there is not much more to be said on the issue. He gets up from the couch and shuffles down the hall.

"Okay," he says. "Just be… be responsible, Kurt, and don't stay up too late. I'm turning in soon. This game has been just about shot to hell anyway. There's a Netflix movie on top of the television, if you want to watch it." Just like that, Mr. Hummel makes his exit, and Dave is left feeling as if he's avoided stepping on a landmine. He wasn't really afraid of Mr. Hummel—after all, this is a man who let his son come to school in a silver dress and Marquis de Sade wig- but of himself.

Dave has never said, "I'm gay."

Dave has never actually said anything, not "I like guys," or "I'm queer", though by now, he supposes, several people assume it. Admitting it aloud, hearing the words coming from his own mouth, would make Dave fall apart. At the same time, he thinks, it might let people see more of him, and let Dave become closer to whole than he has ever been.

But it's getting close to midnight now, and Dave doesn't think about anything so philosophical when it's this late. He falls asleep on the Hummel's couch, hours after Kurt has gone downstairs. He lets the television run on in the background. It's a voice in the dark, and it's a comfort to Dave, even if nothing tangible is behind it, even if nobody real is talking to him.


	8. In Which Burt Hummel Eats Breakfast

Dave wakes up early to the smell of coffee, the winter light drifting through the open blinds and forcing him out of sleep. It takes him a second to remember where he is, but he does. He hears someone moving around in the kitchen, the sound of silverware and creaking chairs. Slowly, Dave sits up, blinking hard because of the light. He rubs his forehead—he can feel that he's breaking out—and looks up at the TV. It's been turned off.

Mr. Hummel enters the room and sits across from Dave, in an armchair. He's dressed for work, in denim pants and a blue shirt that has an iron-on badge that reads _Burt_. He balances a plate of toast and fruit on his knee, and sets down a cup of coffee on the low table that rests in the center of the room.

"Kurt's got me eating this damn whole-wheat stuff," he says, taking a distasteful bite. "Says it's good for me." He looks over at Dave, who nods to show that he's heard him. Dave is still barely awake. The clock by the television says that it's 8:34. The back of his mouth tastes acrid, and the smell of the coffee is hurting his head. He can't let himself think about think about his parents, so he rubs his left eye, hard, and turns on the television again. Mr. Hummel takes a sip from his mug of coffee and looks speculatively over at him. "Hey, Dave," he says, after a second.

Dave glances over at him warily. Mr. Hummel has put down his plate on the same table as the coffee, and he sits back in his chair. Dave doesn't move his head, but he glances around, looking, perhaps, for a means of escape. Mr. Hummel puts the TV on mute.

"About what you and Kurt told me last night."

"What?" Dave chews at the inside of his cheek nervously.

Mr. Hummel turns his head to one side, and then leans forward. "Dave," he says, putting a hand on the coffee table, "I understand that this is hard for you to talk about, but I want to know. Your parents—they kicked you out because you're gay, didn't they?"

Dave blinks hard, the sleep still in his eyes. He does not really want to look at Mr. Hummel, so he stares at the silent commercial on the television. It's for a new kind of cell phone, which is apparently a lot like an all-powerful robot. The early-morning light that comes in through the front window illuminates the dust on the screen. He can see Mr. Hummel looking at him, waiting for an answer, and Dave realizes that if he doesn't give him one he'll assume that his assumption is correct. Dave makes a noise in the back of his throat. He tries to say something, but it doesn't really work out and so after a couple seconds, he nods, painfully, strained.

Mr. Hummel looks at Dave, and it seems as if he's trying to tread carefully. "I'm sorry," he says. He hesitates for a second. "I was going to say that they're full of crap, but you probably don't want to hear that about your own parents."

Dave shrugs. "I don't know," he says, slowly, quietly. "It's sort of my fault. It was sort of…sudden, and they didn't have any time to prepare, and they don't like that kind of thing, so it'll…" he stops, thinking. "It'll take some time. I guess." What Dave wants to say is that they won't ever really want a gay kid. Dave wants to say that he would rather try to make them happy, and try to be the normal kid. Dave thinks, certainly, that it would be easier if he were normal, and straight. He doesn't say this aloud, though, because of Burt Hummel's expression.

"I don't know what you want to do, Dave, if you want to try and talk to them or what." Mr. Hummel takes another chug of hot coffee. "But I do know that, whatever trouble they're having now, isn't your fault. If they can't understand, or they don't want to, that's their problem to deal with, not yours." He sets the cup down with a clatter, and Dave sees that Mr. Hummel's hand is shaking. "Your only responsibility as their kid is to do the best you can and to be who you are. As your parents," he says through teeth that may be clenched, "They're supposed to support you." Dave looks at him for a second and thinks _Kurt got his eyes from you_. Mr. Hummel seems to be able to see right through Dave.

Dave looks at the floor. He feels grateful to Mr. Hummel for saying what he's supposed to say, and for being supportive, but he's also a little annoyed. What is he saying, after all—that he knows better than Dave's parents? That his way is the only way, that Dave's parents aren't good enough, or don't love him? Dave's parents are just people, and they've been used to thinking about things their way. _Dave's_ been used to thinking about things their way. They have problems with new things, with different things. Not everyone can be as perfect as the Hummel family, Dave thinks. Mr. Hummel doesn't really understand that it's easier to make Dave's parents happy, even if Dave knows that they're flawed, that their ideals contrast with reality.

"Thanks," Dave says anyway.

Mr. Hummel stands, his monologue evidently done. "There's coffee in there, if you want some. We haven't got any cream, though. Just that one percent stuff. This healthy food shtick is going to kill me."

He leaves Dave on the couch, and Dave looks over at the television again. He doesn't turn the sound on, though—he just presses the power button, and watches as the screen goes black.

By nine, Mr. Hummel leaves, and Dave starts to wonder where Kurt is. He's afraid of doing something wrong, though, so he pours himself some coffee and sits at the counter, starting out the window, gradually becoming aware of the pungent, locker-room smell that hangs about his person. The under sleeves of his shirt have yellowish sweat stains on them, and Dave thinks, well, that's just great. Kurt's face appears in his head, his nose wrinkled, looking disgusted. Dave wonders if he should take a shower, but he knows his clothes will still smell. He looks at himself in the Hummel's hall mirror. His hair is messed up from sleeping on the couch, and his skin has a thin layer of oil covering it, bumps emerging on his forehead and chin, the sites of pimple generation. His clothes are wrinkled, and he looks like a train wreck. The worst thing about Dave's appearance, though, is the expression of uncertainty.

At nine forty-eight, Kurt enters the kitchen, dressed in a paisley robe, blue flannel pajamas and slippers—_who wears slippers? _Dave thinks. Dave realizes that he hasn't ever seen Kurt's hair without gel in it; even when Kurt was pretending to date Brittany, there was a visible coating of product under his baseball cap. Now his hair hangs limply over his forehead, and Dave feels like he's violated the boy's privacy, almost as much as when he kissed him.

"Good morning," Kurt says. He either does not notice Dave's disheveled appearance, or pretends not to.

"What's up," says Dave, feigning normalcy.

Kurt rolls his eyes, at what Dave isn't sure. He goes into the kitchen cabinet and pulls out a container of oatmeal. He turns on the stove and starts to boil water before he turns around to face Dave, slowly. Kurt raises an eyebrow at him, and Dave feels like he's the worst person in the world for a second.

"Do you want some oatmeal, or did you eat already?"

"Oatmeal's fine," Dave says, nervously. Kurt nods and adds water to the pot. He looks over his shoulder at Dave, and Dave presses his arms to his sides nervously.

"My dad did tell you that you're allowed to use our shower, right?"


	9. In Which There is A Shower

The towels in the Hummel house are blue. Some of them have light pink bleach spots on them and Dave, who has had experience with the bleaching properties of benzyl peroxide, imagines that most of the stains come from Kurt's skincare products. Dave thinks of Kurt rubbing his face on the towels so that acne cream rubs off on the cloth, and feels his face turn hot as he thinks of pressing one of those towels to his own skin. He chooses a towel without any bleach spots.

The water takes a while to heat up, and Dave stays fully clothed until it's hot enough. He feels embarrassed, standing in Kurt's bathroom, the wide, light-rimmed mirror giving him no escape from his own reflection. There is a cluster of hair care products by the sink, bottles and sprays and a zebra-print hair straightener that Dave feels is, maybe, a bit much. By the toilet is a basket of magazines-mostly _Esquire_ and _Vogue_. The stack of glossy paper smells like the perfume department at Macy's.

Dave makes sure that the door is locked before he gets undressed and steps into the shower. Dave is used to doing this at home, but he is especially afraid, in someone else's house, of being looked at. The idea of being naked in the same room as someone else, much less a guy his own age, makes Dave incredibly, uncomfortably aware of everything he's tried to hide, and he tries not even to imagine the situation arising with Kurt. Dave is embarrassed of the hair on his stomach, of the density of his torso, of the teenage acne that covers his back in small red bumps. He hates himself, and hates the idea of Kurt accidentally seeing him at his most vulnerable, because Dave feels sure, without even giving conscious thought to the matter, that Kurt would be disgusted with him.

The Hummel's faucet has some sort of high-pressure setting, and the hot water assaults Dave's shoulders as he steps over the rim of the tub. The steam rises off his skin.

Dave reaches for the soap and discovers that there are at least seven bottles to choose from. Three have labels which use terms for hair care Dave doesn't understand. Most of the bottles claim to be made from all-natural or organic ingredients. Dave selects one from the end, because the label says that it's body wash, and because unlike most of the other bottles, it isn't pink. He pours a little of the liquid onto his hand, and swallows hard in shock and discomfort, because it smells, intensely, of Kurt. It's honey and mint, and it is the same smell that wafts by whenever Kurt passes Dave in the hall. It's the same smell that Dave breathed in when he kissed Kurt on Wednesday. Kurt uses this wash, Dave thinks, which means that he rubs it on every day in the shower. Dave forces the image of a wet-haired, bare-chested Kurt out of his head and washes himself as fast as possible, barely rinsing the shampoo out of his hair.

As he gets out of the shower, Dave wraps the towel around his waist immediately. The mint-and-honey smell clings to his skin, reminding him of whose scent it is. His face is flushed, and he jumps, muscles contracting, when he hears footsteps, so light as to only be Kurt's, coming down the hall.

There's a pause that seems to go on forever, and Kurt's voice says, through the closed door and over the fan, "Do you have a change of clothes?"

Of course I don't, Dave thinks, and he says, "No. I can wear my stuff from yesterday."

"Well, we have some old t-shirts and stuff, if you needed something else. There's some clothes that my dad got a while back that he's never worn, too. He sticks religiously to his collection of flannel and denim, and I was just trying to get him to branch out, but to each his own, you know, I guess he felt that my taste was an insult to his grunge aesthetic…" Kurt trails off, and stays silent for a few seconds, waiting for a reply. "Or not. I know most guys don't have my fashion sense. I promise I wouldn't pick out anything too avant-garde or… _faggy_," he finishes. Dave feels like he's been punched in the stomach and wants to apologize, again, but he doesn't want to prolong the conversation.

"Okay, I guess," Dave says.

"Wait, really?" Kurt's voice lilts upward in surprise.

"Whatever," says Dave, unconsciously clutching at the hem of the towel. He is secretly relived that Kurt thought of offering, as his clothes smell and he doesn't feel like turning his day-old underwear inside out and wearing them again, but he's also worried about wearing something of Burt's, especially if he tries to go home today. He'd have to explain, which he has never been very good at doing.

Kurt's footsteps retreat down the hall again, and Dave hears a door open and shut. He closes the toilet lid and sits down on it with his legs pressed together as closely as possible. The heat from the shower is starting to evaporate, and Dave feels the cooling air against his skin. He crosses his arms over his chest and looks down at the uppermost issue of _Vogue._ The woman on the cover stares at him fiercely.

Kurt's footsteps return, and he knocks at the door.

"Just open the door enough so I can pass these through," he says. "I think they'll be okay."

There is an awkwardly choreographed moment in which Dave tries to hide behind the door and open it at the same time. He holds the door so that the latch is about a foot from the doorframe. Kurt sets a pile of clothes on the counter and his hand retreats back, and Dave shuts the door quickly. He waits until the door is completely shut before he says, "Thank you," and even then he says it so quietly that Kurt may not hear it.

There's a grey turtleneck sweater, a pair of khaki pants, and a thankfully unopened plastic pack of Calvin Klein briefs, size 35, which have the curiosity-inducing words, "From Carol" written in Sharpie on the paper label.

Dave puts on the clothes and realizes that he usually doesn't wear anything but t-shirts and the occasional Polo collared button-up. He almost looks good in these clothes, or at least neatly put together. He rubs the towel over his wet hair and folds his old clothes. When he walks cautiously back into the kitchen, carrying the pile of apparel, Kurt turns around and gives him a look of appraisal before nodding slowly, with a look that might be approval.

"That sweater looks good on you," he says, behaving as if it's no big deal to say this, and turns back to the counter, where his bowl of oatmeal sits half-eaten. He's reading the paper. Dave walks over to the full bowl that still sits next to the stove. There's a container of brown sugar next to it, and he scoops some onto the oatmeal, glancing at Kurt over his shoulder. The boy's light brown hair is brushed, now, and parted at one side. Dave puts a hand to his own head. His hair is too short to warrant frequent combing, and it's curly and dark, his grandfathers polish heritage. As he leans against the counter and begins eating, Kurt turns from the World to the Fashion section. Dave sees that the paper is the Wall Street Journal. He feels his ignorance acutely. Dave rarely glances at the local news, and rarer still does he notice what the stock market does.

The oatmeal is lukewarm, but it tastes okay. Dave eats half the bowl standing by the sink. Eventually, Kurt looks up at him, and, still chewing, asks if he wants any more coffee. Dave shakes his head, and Kurt closes the paper, getting up from the counter and stepping lightly over the tiles to get to the sink, slippers making little scuffing noises on the floor.

"All right," he says, and walks over to the sink, where he scrapes the last bits of his breakfast into the garbage disposal. His arm accidentally brushes Dave, who starts and moves back against the counter. Kurt pretends that he doesn't notice.

"What are you planning to do today?"

Dave shrugs, halfheartedly. He doesn't want to think about it. His mom terrifies him.

"Well," Kurt says, "I'd drive you over to your house again, but I don't know if that's such an incredibly hot idea after what happened last night." His voice is fast, precise and a little nasal on the last few words, and his lip curls downward in distaste, remembering.

"Yeah, that wasn't… that was bad." Dave tries to sound equally upbeat, but his voice wavers a little. He puts his bowl down next to the sink.

"Dave," Kurt says, turning around to face him, "I hope everything turns out all right. Not even a Neanderthal deserves to be treated like that by their own parents." He pauses, and glances to the side, looking out the window at the yards, which is frosted over. The weatherman has said there might be snow this weekend. "I'm used to my dad, and he's still adjusting to this, but he's really great. Did you know that he took me to see Lady Gaga this summer? In July. He didn't want to, and he had absolutely no idea what was going on, but he took me anyway, because I was excited about it but wasn't sure about being able to drive all the way to Cleveland by myself. I'm just… I'm used to that."

Dave nods. Kurt looks over at him, and he feels embarrassed again. "I mean," he says, fumbling. "Your dad is cool. Yeah." Kurt smiles, and Dave blushes anxiously and then scowls.

"You've been pretty cool, too," Kurt says, smirking. It occurs to Dave how much has changed since yesterday at noon, when Kurt's face went defensively, aggressively blank at the mere sight of Dave. "Apologizing, being polite. You've been reformed."

Dave isn't sure if he's joking or not. He thinks Kurt is about to say something else, but instead the smaller boy just stands there, half-smiling vaguely, his eyebrows knitted together above his nose. Dave isn't really sure what's going on, and he steps back toward the refrigerator. Kurt gives a small, whispery laugh, and Dave is more confused than ever.

"What?"

"Usually you're full of cutting witticisms to throw at me. Once you stopped insulting me, you completely shut up. It's like you're a completely different person."

Dave isn't sure if that's a compliment or not.

"I think you're actually pretty shy." Kurt is looking at Dave from an angle, now, through his eyelashes, which makes Dave's ears feel like they've been lit on fire and brings to mind scenes from Dave's imagination that he rarely lingers on during the day, or when anyone else is there to see his facial expression. He feels like he's about to do something he'll regret, so he turns away and moves over to the island counter.

"You sort of caught me at a bad time."

Kurt is quiet for a beat. Then, slowly, he walks up beside Dave and gives him a tentative sort of pat on the shoulder, which might have turned into a hug, except Dave stiffens and Kurt pulls away and moves back.

"You can think about what you want to do today. I'm going to get cleaned up now, or I'll still be in my pajamas at dinner tonight." Kurt's face looks as baffled as Dave feels, as if he doesn't know quite what he was doing. He hurries down the hall away from Dave, and Dave is left alone in the kitchen, where he pours the rest of his oat meal into the trash and tries to ignore Kurt's directions, and just to stop thinking altogether.


	10. In Which There is a Fire Alarm

Dave calls his home number. He uses his cell phone, which is nearly out of batteries. On the other end of the line, he hears the thin buzzing of a ringtone. One buzz, two, three… Dave strains his ears to hear if anyone's picking up the phone, but nothing happens. After five rings, his father's voice issues out of the receiver. Dave's father hasn't addressed him in real life in days, or weeks, and Dave realizes that he's almost forgotten what his father sounds like.

"_Hello, this is Paul Karofsky, and you've reached the Karofsky residence. We aren't answering calls right now, so please leave your name and number and we'll get back to you."_

Sometimes Dave's father has morning meetings, even on the weekend, so it makes sense that he wouldn't be home. Dave's mother, though, is usually always there on Saturday morning, in her bathrobe and slippers, watching television. Dave hopes that she's just gone out for breakfast today, or was busy with dishes. He hopes that she has just missed the phone—maybe she was in the other room. It can't be that they aren't picking up the phone because it's _him_. Or, maybe, they're still mad—Dave doesn't want to think about another fight with his mom, but it dawns on him that his parents will still be as angry with him as they were last night, if not even madder. He feels a well of guilt and anger build inside him, pushing at the base of his esophagus. Dave remembers the year when his older brother called the house on November 19, saying he was missing Thanksgiving at home because he had tickets to a football game with his friends from Penn State. Dave's parents had behaved coldly to their oldest son for months afterward. The Karofskys don't forget, or forgive, quickly.

Dave calls the house again, and then a third time, and then, when nobody answers the phone, he shoves his cell back into his backpack and looks out the window. It's icy outside, and the clouds are gathering overhead, but the streets look bright, and Christmas decorations adorn the front yards of several of the Hummels' neighbors. Dave sits down on the couch and folds his arms across his chest. He picks up the TV guide.

From down the hall, he can hear the shower, and the bathroom fan, and a faint, familiar melody in Kurt's voice. If Dave didn't know Kurt, hadn't heard him sing some weird French number at the pep rally with the Cheerios, he would have thought the voice was a woman's; it's a high, sweet falsetto. He thinks, as he listens, that the song Kurt's singing is a woman's song, too—Dave tries to remember which one it is. He's heard it before, and it takes him a second to realize that it's a Katy Perry song. The title is "If You Can Afford Me". It hasn't been on the radio since the spring, and Dave's only heard it a few times, but he remembers the chorus. Thinking about Kurt singing those lyrics makes Dave embarrassed. Isn't it a song about a prostitute?

Dave gets up and moves around, to distract himself. He looks at the pictures hanging on the walls, and he looks at the spines of the books on the bookshelf. The Hummels' bookcases hold an eclectic mix. There are magazines about cars and books of murder mysteries, which Dave's pretty sure belong to Mr. Hummel, and then there are some glossy copies of _GQ_ and Oscar Wilde hard covers, which Dave knows are Kurt's. On the bottom shelf there is an array of cookbooks, which are dusty and nearly untouched. Dave doesn't want to rifle through the Hummels' reading material (it seems to be alphabetized) so he turns away and ends up at the coat rack again.

Above Dave's coat, on a shelf, there is a box which contains a pile of neatly folded, brightly colored scarves. Dave recognizes a few. Before he knows what he's doing, he takes the box down and is running his fingers over the scarf Kurt wore yesterday, the texture, the small lumps of thread near the edges. As he does it he realizes how weird this action is, but he manages to put it out of his mind, for a second—to put everything out of his mind for a second, all the consequences, like he did on Wednesday. Again, before he realizes what, exactly, he's doing, or thinks about it, he's taking the scarf and putting it in his bag, feeling a vague, distasteful panic as he does so but refusing to let himself acknowledge it. The scarf is pushed down, under his damp textbooks and pencil case. Then Dave zips up the backpack and pretends, as hard as he can, that nothing has happened. He puts the box back on the shelf and searches for something to do. Eventually he settles on reading the editorial section of the Wall Street Journal, which he can't really follow. Someone is mad about something, he decides, and it's the liberals' fault, though exactly how, the author fails to mention or mentions using such big words that Dave can't understand. Dave studies the accompanying cartoon, searching for a clue as to the incendiary issue.

He's still bent over the paper when Kurt re-enters the room, dressed in what might be described as a waistcoat over a white v-neck sweater. His hair is drying into the glossy, carefully positioned style that's usual of him. Kurt's still humming, quietly. He sits on the edge of a stool and addresses Dave.

"So, what's your verdict?"

Dave looks up and shrugs, moving his head to one side. "I called my house. Nobody answered. I guess they aren't home, or something."

Kurt nods slowly. "Do you know where they would be?"

Dave mutters something about his dad being at work.

Kurt is silent for a long moment, and then he asks, without looking at Dave, "What do you want to do about the other stuff? I mean, are they…they wouldn't be mad at you, would they? Not still."

Dave tries to fold the paper up, but ends up ripping a corner off. He hates newspapers—they're big and unwieldy and fragile. "I don't know," he says. "Probably it's fine." He tries to pass his tone off as light.

Kurt stands; he's smiling in a way that Dave knows from experience doesn't mean he's happy. His eyelids scrunch up, nevertheless, and the corners of his mouth lift. "Well, maybe we can call them again later. Do you have any homework you need to do? I mean, if you want to. There's nothing else really to do."

Dave's grateful for the change of subject, and he nods, and goes to his bag, pulling out his Algebra II textbook, ignoring the scarf. He and Kurt set up at the living room table, and Dave realizes that he's actually able to concentrate and get things done. Kurt's working on a rough draft for some essay, and he keeps crossing things out and erasing. His handwriting is loopy. He writes his Ks the old fashioned way, so they look like Ps with little tails. Dave does his homework for Algebra II and then reads his US History assigned chapter. He's not terribly interested in Puritans –they're boring and staid and their religion depresses him-but he takes a few notes. What really interests Dave is the Restoration, back in Britain, which was happening at about the same time. The rise of the monarchy after Cromwell died marked the rebirth of British high culture, of remarkable architecture. Theater was brought back, and the empire began to expand once more. In Dave's class, his teacher had mentioned the Restoration only briefly, talking about how it was an era of decadence and corruption. Dave had read up on it, though, and what it really sounded like was a decades-long party—Charles the Second was a beloved monarch despite spending the country's money on extensive parties, and he'd been a welcome change from Cromwell's tight-fisted, dour establishment. Dave hadn't mentioned this in class, though. All he'd done was mutter, "bullshit" when the teacher had talked about the Puritanical work ethic and tolerant social system, which earned him a few giggles from the people at his table and a stern look from his history teacher.

Dave finishes the chapter and doesn't close the book. He looks down at the last paragraph and wonders if he could bring up history with Kurt. Not everyone really cares about that kind of thing, but it'd at least give him something to say where otherwise there'd be awkward silence.

He looks up at Kurt, who is glaring down at his own writing and chewing his lip. He crosses out a word and writes something else. Dave waits until Kurt is sharpening his pencil, and then he says, like it's just crossed his mind,

"Hey, have you ever heard of the Restoration?"

Kurt looks up with a slightly surprised expression, and Dave blushes, but he continues.

"Yeah, uh, right after Oliver Cromwell and the Parliament took over. The monarchy came back and Charles the Second got put on the throne. He threw a ton of parties and brought back Christmas, which the Puritans had gotten rid of. He also dealt with the Plague of London when it happened, and then a giant fire that burnt down the whole city. He directed the fire-fighting effort himself. He's still not really thought of as a serious king, though, or not recently. I think it's his hair," Dave says, and looks away from an incredulous Kurt and down at his book, rifling through the pages to find the picture he wants. It's a painting of a middle-aged King Charles II with a spaniel at his feet. His long tangle of brown hair makes him look faintly ridiculous, and Kurt smirks at the picture, which lets Dave know that he can smile, too. He's pretty sure that it's relief washing through him, and he's glad he said something. Kurt continues to smile at him, which isn't something Dave objects to.

"You're really into this, aren't you?"

Dave smiles hopefully. "I guess. Some parts of history are kind of cool. I don't really have a lot of other stuff to do, outside hockey and football, so I go to the library sometimes. It's kind of nerdy."

Kurt's grin spreads wider. "That's definitely not something I would have thought of you doing. This is the guy who never uses more than seven words at a time at school?"

Dave stops smiling, remembering the slushies he's thrown at Kurt and the names he's called him. "I don't talk a lot. Not to say stuff I mean." It's not an apology, not as such, not like last night when he said 'sorry' for Wednesday. It is, though, as close as Dave gets to apologizing for everything, for all of the years where he hurt Kurt.

"Except when something interests you?"

Dave thinks about how he noticed Kurt, back in tenth grade. Kurt had been much quieter then, but was still obviously different. Dave had been fascinated, watching him in the halls. He'd wanted to talk to Kurt, and never done so. He had avoided mentioning him at all to the guys on the hockey team, for fear of being connected with a taboo. "Even then. I don't know, it's not something a lot of guys do. We don't talk about stuff—I mean, we do, but not… _conversations_."

Kurt smirks. "I think I know how that goes. My dad's the same way, most days. I mean, if he notices something he'll comment on it, but he isn't a big talker. I think most guys think it makes them vulnerable to talk too much."

Dave shrugs, and pulls the textbook back toward himself. He thinks he knows what _vulnerable_ means. Fragile. Breakable. "It kind of does. The more you talk, the better people know you."

Kurt raises his eyebrows, and opens his mouth, and then closes it. His eyes dart to the side and then back to Dave. Dave pulls out his notebook for French and opens it to the Chapter 4 Vocabulary page, where he's made a messy list of poorly spelled French terms. He doesn't look at Kurt. They go back to working, and eventually Kurt stands up and walks over to the door, where he peers through the full-length window onto the street.

"Oh man, the roads are all frozen from last night. I bet it's going to snow."

Dave looks around. The road doesn't look that much different from earlier. The clouds are low.

Kurt glances over at Dave. "Do you want to go for a walk?"

"Not really."

Kurt frowns, but doesn't insist. He goes into the next room and boots up the computer, and after a few minutes Dave hears music emanating from the speakers. It's Katy Perry, again, and it's too loud to ignore. Dave's only halfway done with his French homework (he has to write sentences about the weather tomorrow, and yesterday, and next week, and map out a dialogue in which people discuss the weather) but he shoves everything back in his backpack and sits for a minute, listening.

_If you want me_

_The crème de la crop_

_You'll have to do better than that tonight_

_If you want me_

_It takes more than a wink, more than a drink_

_More than you think_

Dave walks over to the computer room, and watches Kurt. He's on the computer, on Facebook or something, moving his head to the music. Dave guesses that this is Kurt's way of saying _Don't talk to me_ and so he goes into the kitchen again, and decides that he's going to make tea—his parents never make tea, but the Hummels have a blue metal tea kettle and a tea caddy full of Earl Grey sitting out, and Dave needs something to do. He pours the water in and sets it on the stove, and then he goes to find a mug. He sits down to wait for the tea.

Dave doesn't cook much, and he's easily distracted, so he doesn't notice the steam pouring out of the tea kettle's mouth. He's sitting on the couch again, looking at an article about the finale of a British television series when the fire alarm goes off. He jumps up and sees the tea kettle, which is just about boiling over, and moves toward it, but Kurt's already moving into the kitchen, prompted by the screeching beeps that drown out even Perry's song. Dave gets there, but Kurt's already nearly to the burner, and so Dave moves anxiously around, his ears hurting. Kurt moves the kettle and Dave tries to reach in and turn off the burner, saying "Sorry, sorry," and Kurt's telling him it's fine, that the tea kettle leaks steam all the time. Dave switches off the burner, but now Kurt's trying to turn around, and he walks right into Dave's chest.

The fire alarm is still bawling as Kurt looks up at Dave, who is still clutching the dial for the stove like it will save his life, his ears turning red, and it's still making noise when Dave moves toward Kurt, slowly.

It isn't really clear what happens then, because of the noise—the alarm and the music are ear-splitting. It's impossible to say who moves first.

It's not Dave's first kiss. It isn't even his first kiss with a boy. But it is, probably, the first one that matters. It's definitely the only time that Kurt kisses him back.

The fire alarm is still on when Dave backs away, nearly tripping over himself, muttering what might be excuses, and grabs his backpack and barely gets his shoes on before running out the door. He can hear it outside the house, as he moves down the sidewalk as fast as he can, and he can hear it echoing in his ears long after that.


	11. In Which Dave's Father Talks, A Little

Dave notices that the lights aren't on at home, when he gets there. It's cold out, and Dave's toes are numb from the walk back to is house. His eyes feel dry and crusty, and whether that's from the cold or from the tears, he isn't sure. He wants to wash his face before he goes home to face his parents, feeling sure that he looks a mess, but it's too late now. He walks up his driveway and his steps, feeling different, foreign, now that he knows there's a chance he won't be allowed to stay. He knocks on the door and steps back, folding his arms against his chest for warmth.

There is no answer, and Dave looks back over his shoulder at the driveway and the quiet street. His dad's car is gone. Could they both be out? He knocks on the door again, and then, just in case, he tries the knob. It's unlocked.

Dave opens the door and peers inside. He can't see if there is anyone in the kitchen, but the lights are off. He steps inside, because hell, he isn't going to wait out there in the cold to be let into his own house, and if his parents really wanted him to stay out they would have locked the door. He takes off his shoes and rubs at his feet, feeling prickly stabs of pain where the sensation is coming back. Dave's house smells like cat, even though the Karofskys don't own a cat and never have owned one. The smell is embedded in the carpets, planted there by the pet of some previous owner, and though it's masked by a strong layer of pine air freshener, that distinctive scent is how Dave knows he's home. Now though, it smells stale and off-putting rather than welcoming.

Dave stands and goes to the kitchen. Nobody is there, though there's a purse left on the kitchen table next to his mother's glasses and a grocery list. There is no sign of either of Dave's parents being nearby. Dave sits down at the table, figuring that he'll wait there until his parents return, but he can't stand just sitting there. He stares out the glass back door into the sparse, brown backyard, where a lone crow attacks their birdfeeder, before getting up and going upstairs. He was planning on going to his room, to put his backpack away, but instead he stops halfway down the hall and peers into his parents' room. The door is half open, and he can see his mother's form on the bed. Cautiously, Dave pushes the door further so that he can see her. She's in her flannel pajamas, and she's sprawled on top of the covers, asleep. Dave knows she's asleep, since he's stepped closer to make sure she's breathing. He watched a horror movie last summer where a body was discovered like this, and part of him was sure, for a second, that his mother was dead. Her chest is rising and falling, though, so Dave stands between her and the door, looking around. The window shades are open, and the bed has been made, though it's mussed, now. A coffee mug half full of clear liquid on the bedside table nearest his mother. Dave doesn't get close enough to smell it. He steps out of the room and closes the door all the way, making the click as soft as he can.

Once he's in his room, Dave shuts his own door and dumps the backpack onto his bed, unzipping it so that the contents fall out. Dave's clothes from the day before, his schoolbooks and his pencils all fall onto the blue bedspread. Dave roots through the pile and pulls out Kurt's scarf. The memento makes him feel a little guilty, but not as much as one would think. He wanted that scarf, and he still feels that it was the right decision to take it. Who is it really hurting? Kurt has lots of scarves. Even though Dave can't have Kurt, not his affection or his attention, he can have this thing. It's a poor substitute, but Dave needs whatever he can get. It makes him feel accomplished to have it here, smelling like Kurt in the midst of the cat-dandruff and teenage boy scents that make up Dave's room.

_Is this an obsession? _Dave wonders for a second, and decides that it isn't, not really. It isn't really about Kurt. Dave wants Kurt, likes him, harbors a mess of emotional and physical feelings toward the other boy that he can't explain and doesn't want to, but he knows, in a practical, entirely unromantic way, that he is never going to be loved by Kurt. This isn't a realization but a prerequisite fact, and Dave has always known it. Dave's an idiot about some things, but he isn't that dumb. That isn't really what all of this is about. If it was-if all of Dave's troubles could be solved by the knowledge that Kurt loves him- then Dave would hardly be so worried. Because what kind of problems would they be, to be resolved and done away with by a high school romance? Romance. There's a faggy word. Dave loves Kurt, so much it hurts, and he wants to know him, but this wish is so powerful only because Dave thinks that it will help him to know himself. Then he could deal with all of this crap.

Dave inhales Kurt's scent from the scarf and then tries to think of a hiding place for it. In the end he tucks it under his mattress. He puts his dirty clothes in the hamper and, after some deliberation, he changes out of the clothes that Kurt gave him and into a different outfit. He puts Mr. Hummel's clothes into the bottom of his dresser drawer, under a tuxedo shirt full of wrinkles and a pair of black dress pants that Dave had forgotten he had. Out of sight, out of mind.

Dave reorganizes all of his stuff from school and puts it back into his backpack. He goes into the bathroom and washes his face and tries as hard as he can not to look at himself, but he does anyway.

_That's the face of a guy who's made out with another guy. _The thought gives Dave a little thrill. Dave examines his nose, and the eruption of pimples below his jaw line. _Twice now I kissed him. I'm so ugly. Why did Kurt not push me away? _

Usually, Dave thinks he is decent-looking, but today the light is crisp, streaming in from the hall window, and he thinks he sees himself more clearly than usual in its glow-every pore, every small imperfection. He goes back into his room and falls onto his bed, curling into a ball that bespeaks unborn animals and crying children. Dave really just wants to sleep, and he does in the end, but first a hotness rolls in behind his eyes and he starts crying again, the kind of crying people do in the irrational waking darkness after a nightmare. His lungs heave and fill with air and then shrink, and he takes shallow breaths until his sinuses start to clear and the cold air fills his mouth.

Dave doesn't dream. When he opens his eyes after what seems to him like a blink it's dark outside, and the garage door is opening. The grating metal-on-metal sound reminds Dave of where he is. He hears his dad's car pull in, the door slam, and then the key rattling in the lock. Dave jumps up into a sitting position, rubs his eyes, and grabs a book from the bedside table. It's an account of Lewis and Clark's journey across the mainland of America, and he tries to engross himself in it, so that he'll look nonchalant. After a few minutes, he hears his father mounting the stairs. There's a noise as the door to his parents' room opens, and a brief interim after that in which Dave thinks, if he strains his ears, that he can hear footsteps on carpet. There's a period of silence, and Dave wonders what's taking his father so long. It seems to Dave like his presence in the house is obvious, that his father ought to realize that he's there and acknowledge him.

He hears his father's footsteps go down the stairs again, then, and Dave puts his book down and sits up. There's the sound of water running and the dishwasher being started-an electrical hum and the splash of water into the machine. Dave swings his legs over the side of the bed and is at the door to his room, figuring out a way to make his presence known without pissing anyone off, when Paul Karofsky comes back up the stairs, holding a washcloth. The older man catches sight of his son standing in plain view down the hall, and nods in a way that says nothing about what he's thinking. He says nothing to Dave. He enters the bedroom again and shuts the door. Dave hears lows voices inside, his father's first and then a mumble from his mother. The realization dawns on him that his parents, or at least his father, are not thinking about him and his troubles every waking minute, and- this thought with some shock- that at the moment there is, must be, a problem more pressing than Dave's own issues.

Dave waits in his room. His father never comes in, though, and after an hour and a half of waiting, half-pretending to read his book, Dave goes out into the hall once more. The door to his parents' room is open and his mother, still on the bed, is now underneath the covers. The light is off and the shades are closed. Dave's father is nowhere in sight.

"Dave?" Dave thought his mother was asleep, but she is awake. Her voice is hoarse.

"Hi, Mom."

"Davie, I'm… sorry about last night."

"It's okay," Dave says, more because he wants to avoid the topic than because he has forgiven his mother. "I'm alive."

"Davie, Davie, I'm sorry." His mother sounds genuinely apologetic, indeed, on the verge of tears. Dave feels like there's been enough crying, though, so he just mutters something reassuring and goes downstairs to look for his dad.

Paul Karofsky is in his office, on the computer, typing something. Dave stands in the door until he's noticed. When at last his father spins around to look at him, Dave notices that his eyes are tired; red with lack of sleep.

"Dave," he says, in a deadpan.

"Hi," Dave mutters. "How was your day, Dad?"

"Same as it ever is."

"Is that good?"

"Maybe so."

There's a silence, and father and son make eye contact for a few seconds until Paul breaks it to spin back around to his computer. He says, to the monitor, "Have you done your homework?"

"I did."

"You'd better have. I saw your last report card. What are you doing with your time that you can't pass your Algebra II tests?"

"Sports, Dad. I'll do better next time."

"Just do your best. Be the best you can be," says Paul Karofsky, and he directs this to his keyboard as his fingers begin to move again. "Your very best."

Dave bites at a raw spot on the inside of his mouth. "Dad, about last night."

"I'm not talking about that."

Dave hesitates, but plows on. "I don't know how much you heard, but I think Mom thought- "

"We are not talking about this." Mr. Karofsky's voice is low, but Dave stops talking and stands, staring meekly at the floor. " We don't have to talk about this. I think we both know that it's not going to happen again, and that's enough for me."

Dave's brow wrinkles, but his father glances at him over his shoulder and so he says, quickly, "Absolutely not. Never again."

"I'm not having a faggot for a son."

Dave doesn't feel a pang in his heart when his father says it. He doesn't feel betrayed, or angry, or self-righteous. He feels blank and weak and empty and drained, and he feels like there's an ache in the pit of his stomach that will never go away, but he doesn't feel like arguing. He makes a noise of assent.

"Good man." Mr. Karofsky turns back to his work. "Now, can you please go order a pizza? I don't think your mother's up for making anything tonight and I'm swamped with these tax returns."

Dave walks into the hall, toward the phone.


	12. In Which Time Passes

Azimio waves at Dave Monday morning as he gets out of his car. Dave's standing in front of the school doors, staring vacantly into the bright morning. The cold weather from the weekend has dissipated into sunshine. Dave still feels cold. He looks over at Azimio approaching and gives him his best imitation of a sincere smile. Azimio slaps him on the back and greets him with some sort of upbeat jovial phrase Dave doesn't hear, and they go into the school. Dave glances over his shoulder at the parking lot and the street. He was waiting for Kurt. Waiting in a sort-of, not-really way, naturally.

Dave wants Kurt to let him know that everything that happened Sunday is forgiven, or at least forgotten. He wants to start over and never give Kurt a mean look again, and start being whoever it was that Kurt smiled at over the weekend. Dave really wants to be someone else. At the same time, though, Azimio is talking and looking at Dave like he's been concussed, and Dave is expected to answer Azimio.

"Hey, bro, what's going on?"

Dave swallows and looks over at his friend, giving him a coyote-in-headlights glare that shuts him up. "Just stuff over the weekend, man. It wasn't so hot. My parents are pissed about my grades."

Azimio gives a compassionate grunt and takes off for his first period class. Dave is left standing in the hall, the flow of students parting around him.

At lunch, there's a kid on the hockey team who starts in on some video game that he hates. He keeps using the word "faggot" and the phrase "fucking queer", and Dave finds that he doesn't have it in him to say anything, doesn't even have it in him to move to another table. He laughs, instead, the same hollow laugh that's become routine for him. He slouches over his cardboard tray, feeling like his brain has no control over his actions. Whether that's because Dave is a coward or because he is trying to avoid conflict or some other thing, the fact remains that he doesn't act.

In English class, Dave is asked to read aloud from _1984_ by George Orwell. It's a passage about the mindset of the people in the story's dystopian future. In Orwell's Oceania, thought police capture and torture people who plot against Big Brother or inadvertently disrupt the status quo. The thought police are always watching to ensure the safety of their delusional national security. People can tell on you, if they know you are thinking about revolting. Children tell on their parents, wives tell on their husbands, friends can and do betray friends. The fate for people who are arrested by the Thought Police is usually execution. It is easiest to never do anything, even if one hates the way things happen. Dave chokes on his words several times as he reads, but nobody seems to notice. His classmates stare blankly out the window or look at their cell phones.

It's hard to suddenly change. When Dave sees Kurt at his locker that afternoon he gives him a shove that sends the smaller boy careening to the floor. Dave glances back as Kurt looks around with a bewildered, injured stare, his yellow engineer boots reflecting the florescent lights of the ceiling. Dave scowls and nods, as if he meant to hurt Kurt. He turns around and keeps walking, because honestly, it is incredibly easy to do so.

The next day he leaves English early so he can talk to Kurt before French starts. He catches him in the hallway and manages to make eye contact. Kurt has a cautious look about him, but he meets Dave's gaze.

"Hello, Dave," says Kurt, and Dave feels his face get really warm, really fast. It is the first time Kurt has called Dave by his first name in school. People could hear.

"K-Hummel. How's it going."

He can't say any more, even though he wants to. Instead they go to class. Dave holds the door for Kurt (a small personal victory) and they sit down in their respective assigned seats, Kurt just two desks away from Dave. Dave doesn't make eye contact for the entirety of the class period. He sits in his seat, and writes down the wrong answers, and mispronounces the words when the teacher calls on him. Kurt stares stubbornly ahead and never once glances back at Dave.

Dave's mother is back to normal by Wednesday night. She doesn't tell Dave what was wrong, and instead chats with him about the upcoming football season and the hockey game schedule. She also talks about work, and the odd things people bring to have dry-cleaned (a pair of woolen socks, a top-hat). Dave grimaces his way through the small talk. He sleeps little and instead spends his nights reading history books or staring at the ceiling. Night is an alternate reality, a haven of a kind. Dave is plagued by worries about his life and his future, but he can ignore them. Night is when his fantasies can take root and grow, when he can say Kurt's name without anyone hearing. Dave feels guiltier about taking Kurt's scarf as time passes, but he isn't going to give it back. Dave doesn't want to seem like he's a stalker. Besides, the scarf still smells like Hummel, and it reminds Dave that Saturday happened. He knows he looks like a loser or a creep or a pervert or worse, holding on to the fabric at night and thinking about Kurt as he jerks off. But the night is a separate universe in which everything is okay.

Paul Karofsky is yelling at the television again. A local sports team is losing, unable to pass the ball a sufficient distance. Dave's father yells _you fags_, _you fucking queer faggots, fuck, fuck, fuck. _It's the most Paul Karofsky has spoken in his home all day. Dave is in the kitchen reading about doublethink, and he overhears his father. Dave considers getting up and giving his ad a piece of his mind, but it's like a lot of other considerations in that nothing comes of it.

At lunch Thursday he walks past Kurt's table, where the boy sits with Mercedes laughing. Dave slows as he passes and says, loudly enough to be audible, "'Sup, Homo." He smiles at Kurt, tentatively, hoping that it will be taken like a joke. Kurt knows Dave is gay. Mercedes does too.

He winks, to make his point. It's meant as a friendly wink, but Kurt's face falls into a blank, confused expression, and he looks away from Dave. Dave could apologize, of course, but apologizing is one of those things. He can't. He walks away instead, frowning.

Life seems to be the kind of story where not all of the plotlines are neatly tied up at the end of every thirty-minute episode. Dave does try to speak to Kurt, a little, but he always finds an excuse not to, finds a perfectly valid excuse that lets him run away instead. Azimio wants to go to Pizza Hut or the football team is waiting on him or he has to talk to his math teacher about making up his tests before next period.

Eating with Azimio at a fast-food chain after a football practice, Dave listens to Azimio talk about girls. Dave smiles and nods along and whistles at the good parts of his friend's story. He grins in an entirely convincing way when Azimio starts talking about having sex with his girlfriend in the backseat of a car. He drinks his milkshake and glances absently out the window once or twice, but otherwise he is paying perfect attention. He starts when Azimio changes the subject.

"So hey, how are you doing? Why didn't you tell me what was going on?"

Dave smiles crookedly and half-cocks his head, his brain on red alert, the world exploding in his mind. "Say what?"

"Well, I heard from my mom that your parents are having some trouble these days. She said you're seeing a therapist too. What's that about? Why didn't you tell me, man?"

Dave's face feels like a welder's torch and he makes a distressed, half-choked noise. "Uh. I didn't feel like bringing people down. It's nothing major. I can deal."

Azimio squints at Dave and opens his mouth as if to say something else, and Dave thinks _he knows he knows oh he knows_, but then Azimio just gives him a slap on the shoulder and tells him to stay positive, and then they leave the restaurant. Dave's mind is still whirling. Did his mom tell anyone what happened? She couldn't have. Could she? Azimio might not know, but someone else could. Would Kurt tell anyone about Dave staying at his house, about the second kiss? Everything seems like it's falling apart.

At Doctor Pat's office that afternoon, Dave is left alone with the therapist, who wants him to say that he doesn't really want other men, that he just wants emotional affirmation from other men. Perhaps, Dr. Pat seems to suggest, Dave's father did not give Dave enough attention growing up, and this is why Dave is having trouble with his orientation now. Dave is pretty sure this isn't true, but he remains ambiguous enough in his conversation that Dr. Pat seems satisfied. On the way home, his mom asks him if he feels like he's getting better. Dave doesn't think he is—he is more confused and less comfortable than ever. He just wants to be told that he's fine the way he is, that he can do whatever he wants and it will still be okay. He wants Kurt to forgive him, and he wants his mom to like him again, and he knows he can't have both.

His mom doesn't know that he kissed Kurt again on Sunday. She doesn't know that he spent the night at Kurt's house. She thinks Dave is trying to change, trying to be the kid she knows he really is. She communicates this latter item to him as they're driving past the sign welcoming them back to Lima.

"I appreciate how hard this must be, Dave, but I'm glad you know what's right. I took this a little hard at first, but Dr. Pat has told me it's not your fault. You don't have to be… you know. You can heal. We just need to work on it as a family."

Dave shifts in his seat nervously and mutters assent.

Friday after school someone shoves past Dave on their way to the locker rooms. Dave loses his footing for a second before catching himself.

"Watch where you're going!" It does occur to Dave that the shove was intentional, but he refuses to believe that his macho act is going to fail to get an apology.

"Whatever, fag." The kid, who's from the hockey team, gives him this mean grin as he turns the corner, and Dave stands there frozen, shocked. He doesn't even know where he's going as he starts to run down the hall, but when he sees Kurt at his locker he stops. Kurt is talking to Mercedes about boys, right there in front of all of the people in the hallway, and Dave thinks that Kurt probably _could _have told someone else about what happened last week. He asks.

"Did you tell anyone else what happened?" He pauses, for a second. "How you… kissed me?" Kurt might have told his dad what happened on Sunday, Dave thinks. Kurt glares at him, and Dave knows that whatever progress he might have made is as of now completely dissolved.

"You kissed _me_."

Dave panics and looks around. "Shh, not so loud. Did you tell anyone?"

Kurt raises an eyebrow. "I know how hard this is for you, so no, I didn't."

Dave lets out a breath of relief. He feels immediately guilty. Kurt wouldn't tell anyone. For chrissakes, this is Kurt Hummel, not one of Dave's backstabbing jock friends. "Good," he says. He stands there for a second, staring at Kurt, wondering what happens next.


	13. In Which There Are Choices

There's a choice, then.

Dave makes the wrong one. He says something stupid, which of course he doesn't mean, but which is nonetheless horrible and terrifying and wrong and bad. Dave goes back to his car and he cries with a dry throat through the hours he should be studying. He kicks the dashboard, makes the car shake. When it gets dark, he drives home, feeling a whole mess of things that he can't say and can't write and isn't even really supposed to feel.

When he goes back to school, Kurt still glares at him, which is the coldest thing. Dave doesn't know what to do, and he reacts badly. He knows what Kurt feels like, now, in an embrace, and he remembers the boy's lips under his own. It brings a dull ache to Dave's head to think about it. He mocks Kurt, and tries to think of ways to apologize to him, always failing, always thinking of something stupid. He knows he doesn't deserve any sympathy, and there's no way he can face Kurt and admit it. He looks at his feet in the halls, and when Kurt appears in the halls Dave shoves him into lockers with more force than he should, because he feels so terrible about the whole thing and he just wants it to go away. It's no excuse.

Dave's life feels like a canker sore, and despite what the Trevor Project says, it doesn't get any better. Weeks pass and he hurts and hates Kurt, hates himself, hates his parents. He wants to die, but he doesn't want to go to the trouble of suicide, and so he miserably sits through his classes and drums his pencil on the side of his desk. History class becomes the only course he cares about, and he tries actively to fail several others, with the vague hope of getting kicked out of sports. He has nothing to do in the afternoon but homework, though, and so he maintains a C average in spite of himself. He reads books, sometimes, about the least romantic subjects he can think of: the genesis of the common market, the origin of purple dye (snails).

Dave sees Kurt dancing with Finn one day, through the door to the choir room. He makes a little limp-wrested gesture at Kurt that means something like, fag, since he knows Kurt knows what he is, and he doesn't care what Finn thinks. He hates Finn. It's a taunt, really, an immature sort of thing to do, but Dave sits through an uncomfortable meeting with Kurt and Mr. Hummel and his own father, talking about the bullying. Mr. Karofsky lets on nothing of what he must suspect. He glares coolly at Kurt and at his son, thinking, perhaps, that he is in a nest of devils, of sodomites and catamites, wondering how low his son has stooped, wondering what Dave hasn't told him. Dave's imagination goes wild, but after the conference his father tells him nothing. Dave is grounded.

He comes on a passage in his textbook one night that talks about Alexander the Great's male lover. Alexander stayed with his lover's corpse for two days after the man died. The greatest conqueror in history, by some measures. Dave reads the two-sentence blurb quietly to himself over and over again, and revels in it. He isn't allowed to go to the library, and his own computer has been taken. Here, though, in small black letters, there is proof that Dave exists. It isn't enough to lift his spirits, but it helps him to feel a little righteous pang of anger at the world, for a second. It's the first sharp emotion he's felt in a while, and it cuts like glass.

What Dave feels most days is a loneliness that everyone feels at some point, when they're young and weak and lost, and they're watching a world grow around them that they don't know how to fit into. Dave resigns himself to it. He tells himself that one day he will grow up and move out and then something good might happen to him. It doesn't work very well. He's still miserable, and he has nobody to talk to. There are no songs in his life.

When he eventually gets his computer back, he goes on online social forums and tells strangers who he is. He is out and proud, on the internet, in places. All it takes to get Dave to log off, though, is one person commenting that he's a faggot. Dave can't deal with that sort of stuff.

It's a cold morning near Christmas when Dave wakes up and hears his mother crying in the other room.

Spring is a series of gradually warming days, and Dave goes outside sometimes, to walk. His grades improve, mostly because Dave knows that otherwise he'll fail and flunk out of school and never be able to leave Lima, and there is no worse fate than that. He works harder at his schoolwork, trying to ignore the things going on in his head. It's never a very good idea to try and make oneself forget things, though. Later in his life Dave will wish he remembered.

He still loves Kurt. It isn't fair to Dave if you try to argue anything else. Of course he loves him. It's just that there are many ways a person can mess something like that up, and Dave has made so few choices that ever went the right way. There's so little to build upon, Dave knows, so little solid ground. It's his own fault. He's a coward and a hypocrite and a liar. He doesn't want to be. It's a matter of facing himself.

There are lots of other choices Dave still has got to make.

There's some sort of passage of time, then, a month or three or a week or a year or a thousand thousand years. Dave's life goes on.


End file.
